Tornado Gilligan
by JWood201
Summary: 1979. Gilligan touches down in Kansas. Sequel to "Hurricane George."
1. Dinner

_Late spring 1979.  
><em>_Companion piece to __Hurricane George__. Same backstory as HG, Night Before Christmas and my other stories._

_For T. I hope this serves as a worthy distraction. _

* * *

><p><strong>Tornado Gilligan<strong>

Gilligan squirms uncomfortably in his seat.

He coughs. Drops his napkin.

He glances at Mary Ann. She has someone's cute baby in her lap, so she's not paying the least bit of attention to him.

Gilligan looks up. Three strapping young men are sitting across from him. When they look at him, Gilligan knows they're scrutinizing him in the same way their father did. He can see it in their eyes, the way their rugged features crease when they squint at him. They're all handsome, tan, strong. They're planted solidly on the bench, broad shoulders filling the space around them, and Gilligan feels like a scrawny twig. They could probably snap him in half just by looking at him sideways.

Earlier that day, William Gilligan blew into the Wichita airport like an F5 tornado. He staggered blindly through the terminal, insisting on carrying both his and Mary Ann's bags, tripped over his own feet, and flew headfirst onto the baggage carousel. He sat on the conveyor belt, riding it around in a slow circle as he tried to detangle himself from their bags, which were now mixed up with the luggage coming off of a flight from New York. Every time he passed the slide from which more luggage would appear from the plane, he would get slammed in the back by another suitcase. On her feet, Mary Ann followed him around the circle, hissing at him to get down while trying not to laugh. She stopped glaring at him only long enough to smile and apologize to a confused bystander whose bag Gilligan was sitting on. Gilligan spotted two familiar faces in the crowd, but they disappeared as he rode past, Mary Ann's stalking form blocking most of his view. When he finally untangled himself and collected their bags, Mary Ann hauled him off the belt. He stumbled and dropped the bags and nearly knocked Mary Ann over. She finally got him to his feet and they turned around only to come face to face with a whole contingent of Summerses. Aunt Martha and Uncle George looked thrilled to see them. The rest of the herd looked stunned. A homemade "Welcome Home" sign flopped to the floor beside one of the little kids, who was apparently too astounded by what she had just witnessed to hold onto it properly.

Gilligan ducks out of sight to search for his lost napkin. He finds it under the table in the grass. There's also a dog under the table, patiently waiting to snatch up any dropped food. There's a little girl under the table too, trying to feed her ear of corn to the dog, who apparently doesn't like corn and is pointedly ignoring her. Gilligan scratches the mutt behind the ears. The little girl offers Gilligan her corn. He has his own, but he takes it because he doesn't want to be rude.

Gilligan clambers back up onto the bench. They're still studying him. Sam's head tilts slightly when he spots the corn. Their oldest nephew and his father have joined the lineup, eyebrows cocked almost identically.

A warm breeze gusts through the field and nineteen hands instinctively slap down on their napkins. They've done this before. Gilligan watches helplessly as his newly rescued napkin floats away on the breeze and disappears into a wheat field. He frowns. Everyone else continues eating, barely noticing the interruption.

The Summers family doesn't fit around the kitchen table anymore.

The nine of them used to be able to sit at the table together. It was tight, but they fit. But the kids got older and they got married and they had their own kids and eventually they started eating in shifts, standing, sitting on the floor, perched on the counters, yelling from the other room to stay in the conversation.

Eventually Martha grew tired of stepping over people and scraping mashed potatoes off of her couch cushions and pulling her grandchildren out of the sink when they tipped over backwards. So she commissioned – no, _ordered_ – her husband and the boys to build her a giant table out of the enormous pile of old wood that George had been hoarding in the barn for thirty years and was never going to use.

They worked on it for months, learning quickly to stop whining about it and stop trying to convince Martha that they liked eating like a bunch of hillbillies. She wouldn't entertain any complaints, comments, or suggestions. Whenever one of them would wander into the kitchen, hat in his hand, thoughtfully scratching the back of his neck, she'd fix him with a look that would send him straight back outside before he could utter a word. George would show up next, all smiles, and call her _darlin'_. She'd narrow her eyes and ask him if he wanted to sleep in the barn that night.

Martha knew exactly what she wanted and the completed table was gorgeous. Big and rustic with mismatched wood. It had room for all of them and room to grow, which for Martha was the most important part.

When it was finished and sanded and sealed and clean enough to eat off of, George and Martha sat on the edge of the table in the backyard. George scratched his head and frowned at the narrow door to the house. "Why didn't we think about this?"

Martha grinned at him and swung her feet girlishly, her toes just grazing the tips of the grass. "It's not going in the house."

Between May and September the entire family eats Sunday dinner outside under the warm Midwestern sun. The handmade table is covered in gingham tablecloths, china that doesn't all match but still seems like it goes together, and enough food to feed a small army. Sheets hang on the clothesline behind them, waving gently in the breeze.

When it's cold out, they haul the table into the barn and string up lanterns and try to ignore the horses peering over their shoulders eyeing their dinners.

When it's _really_ cold out, they retreat inside the house to drop mashed potatoes on the couch cushions and fall backwards into the sink again.

The kids call it The Big Table and when it isn't being used for dinner, it becomes a cave, a pirate ship, a stage, or a spaceship. They hide underneath it and dance on top of it. They pull freshly laundered sheets from the line and build forts around it.

Every Sunday morning, chaos descends on the farm and the Summers house bursts at the seams. The day hasn't truly begun and Martha can't truly relax into her routine until the peaceful silence is shattered by truck engines and kids screaming and dogs barking. The men stride away to help George with whatever he's doing that day. The women gather in the kitchen to gossip and eat and pretend to help cook. The kids disappear – the boys to get in the way of whatever the men are doing and to bother the animals, the girls to pick wildflowers for the table and to yell at the boys for bothering the animals.

Neighbors claim to be able to hear the din all the way in downtown Winfield and that's exactly the way Martha likes it. Until it gets late and the kids are falling over dead asleep in the grass, jars of fireflies clutched in their hands, and she's grateful that they have their own houses to go back to so she can rest up for next week. Except for weeks that the kids stay there, which are fairly common. The older ones are put to work and the younger ones run around and get into trouble.

This is Gilligan's first Summers Sunday dinner.

And it's louder than the storm that shipwrecked the Minnow.

If Mary Ann hadn't made sure he had a full plate when the meal began, he would be going without. Food is disappearing from the table faster than if he was dining with nineteen Skippers.

Gilligan turns to Mary Ann. She has somebody else's cute baby in her lap now, so she's _really_ not paying any attention to him.

He's not sure who this baby belongs to. There are so many kids and they move so fast that he can't keep them all straight. Most of them are running around in circles screaming. The older ones sit at the table with the adults, trying to be grown-up, but looking desperately bored. People pass the babies around like salt shakers. Martha holds court at one end of the table, scolding the children, kissing their boo-boos and constantly inquiring where her next grandchild is coming from. George is across from her, a million miles away, explaining all the great plans he has for the farm to the boys and trying to tell a salty story about Mrs. Higgenbotham that he heard in town without actually telling the good part.

They're laughing and teasing each other and throwing rolls down the length of the table. Maggie accidentally beans her little brother in the chest with one and then pretends she had nothing to do with it. They learned the hard way that if they pass the basket down past ten other people all the rolls are gone by the time it gets to the person who asked for it in the first place.

"Ow! Grandma!" The oldest girl, the one Rachel named after Mary Ann, rubs the side of her head and plucks a soggy roll off of her plate.

Martha yells an apology from the opposite end of the table, but she's too busy laughing to sound like she actually means it. "Hand that to your grandfather."

Annie scowls and dumps the roll into George's outstretched palm. He winces as string bean juice from her plate runs through his fingers. "I don't want this one. Toss me a fresh one."

"No!" Annie ducks as her grandmother winds up and another roll sails through the air where her head had been a moment before. "_Grandma!_"

"Relax, Annie." Her brother rolls his eyes. "She didn't do it on purpose." Jack pauses and smirks mischievously. "Not like this." On cue, rolls pelt Annie from all directions – her parents, grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles, Summerses and otherwise. Even the cute baby in Mary Ann's lap gets her hands on a roll and attempts to fling it across the table. It flops into the bowl of peas and she starts to cry.

Gilligan can't understand a word that anyone is saying. They're all screaming, yelling, laughing, and he doesn't know how they seem to be able to hear each other. Annie is trying in vain to throw rolls back at anyone within reach while shielding herself with her arms. Her Uncle Jake is pulling the doughy middle out of the rolls and rolling it into balls between his palms. They're denser and harder and hurt more when they hit. The baby's still crying. The first baby is back across the table with her mother, cackling with glee and clapping her chubby hands. Martha is laughing so hard she's halfway out of her chair. Annie is turning bright red and yelling incoherently behind her arms.

Mary Ann is the only person besides Gilligan not engaged in the roll war. She's sitting absolutely still, hugging the crying baby and absorbing the moment. She smiles peacefully amongst the chaos, like she's remembering a similar instance from the distant past, pulling it from her memory and tucking this one safely away alongside it.

It isn't until one of the kids stops dead and addresses Gilligan directly that the others remember he's there and that he's a new novelty they should be paying attention to.

Eight year old Bobby hops up on the bench behind Mary Ann's cousin Charlie and wraps his arms around his father's neck. "Gilligan!" he yells and the commotion around the table screeches to a halt. Annie looks relieved. The baby quiets and watches him through huge brown eyes. She sniffles.

With so many eyes suddenly turned on him, Gilligan wishes he could disappear under the table with the dog and the little girl. He looks up at the boy, who's staring at him in awe.

"What's the ocean like?" Bobby breathes, low and reverent.

Gilligan swallows. The sudden silence is deafening. The dog and the little girl have emerged from under the table and join the twenty two other people staring at him. "It's, uh ..." Gilligan looks around the table. Eyebrows raise. They're waiting. "It's ... wet."

Bobby grins like this is the greatest thing he's ever heard. The others are confused for a moment. They smile uncertainly. Is he kidding? Martha is chuckling, grinning at him over her glass of water. "Cool!" Bobby decides and jumps off the bench. This answer is good enough for the other kids, too, and they go back to chasing each other and screaming.

The rest of them return to their meals and their pre-food fight conversations. Annie shoves a pyramid of rolls off of her plate and shakes crumbs out of her hair. Gilligan turns to Mary Ann. He looks pained, but she's smiling at him. The baby in her lap gives him a big toothless grin.

"That's right, boys!" George exclaims from the head of the table. "Gilligan here was in the Navy." A giant hand slaps down on Gilligan's shoulder and he flinches. It claps him on the shoulder a few times, shakes him affectionately. Gilligan grabs hold of his hat before it's dislodged from his head. "He's a true blue, bona fide Naval hero. He's got a medal and everything!" Gilligan smiles sheepishly. The young men around the table look up with interest. They're either mildly impressed or totally incredulous. But George is grinning. "How do you like that, huh? The Navy!"

# # # #

"Now, who can tell me the most important thing about a water rescue?"

The class peers at each other. A few hands tentatively go up. Annie smirks. "To have actual water?"

"Well ... well, that goes without saying." Gilligan sniffs importantly, hitches up his imaginary gun belt. He's standing barefoot with his pant legs rolled up in the stream beyond the meadow where the cows graze. The water gently laps his ankles. The kids are scattered on the banks, standing in the water, sitting on rocks. Mary Ann and her youngest cousin Grace stand in the back, each with a baby balanced on their hip. Three year old Joey nods distantly, not knowing what he's agreeing with. He's sitting in the grass at their feet, facing away from the stream and not paying the least bit of attention.

"No, the most important thing is not to panic. Now, when your Aunt Mary Ann was drowning in the lagoon, I dove right in, cool as a cucumber, just like I was trained to do in the Navy."

"My hero!" Mary Ann calls from the bank and Gilligan grins, puffs his chest out.

Annie's brother Jack raises his hand obediently. "She told us that she almost drowned you and the Skipper had to jump in and pull you both out."

The kids giggle as Gilligan's shoulders slump and he shoots Mary Ann a look. She shrugs and has the decency to look mildly embarrassed. A cow moos plaintively in the distance. Gilligan clears his throat. "Well, now, that's just the point," he continues. "The most important thing is not to panic. _She_ panicked."

"If _I_ were drowning I'd probably panic," Tommy says.

"Me, too," his sister Emma agrees.

"How are you supposed to rescue someone who's panicking? Wouldn't that make _you_ panic?" Annie is giving Gilligan her best wide doe-eyed look of worry. It must be genetic.

"And how can you rescue someone if you're panicking?" Jack asks.

"Well ... you're not supposed to just jump in and grab them! You're supposed to tow them in so you don't get dragged under!"

"Why didn't _you_ do that?" Emma asks.

"He just wanted to jump in and grab her," Grace interjects and Mary Ann frowns at her.

"There wasn't time!"

Tommy is peering at Gilligan thoughtfully. "So, you're just supposed to hope they last long enough for you to go find something to tow them in with?"

Two year old Jenny stands on the bank clutching Mary Ann's hand. "That's silly," she decides.

"Silly!" Rebecca yells from Grace's arms and then grins at herself, three lone teeth poking out from her gums.

Bobby jumps to his feet and stomps out to stand with Gilligan in the middle of the stream. "It's not silly! It's Navy training!" He glares at his cousins and then points at Gilligan. "This man has a medal."

Gilligan frowns, digs his toes into the mud. "Thanks, Bobby," he murmurs.

"You're welcome." Bobby salutes him sharply and splashes back to his seat.

# # # #

Gilligan's voice penetrates the darkness. "Mary Ann?" She ignores him at first. She doesn't have the energy to respond. "Mary Ann," he repeats, louder, and she winces.

"What?" It's just a mumble, not even close to resembling the real word, but he deciphers it anyway.

"Are you comfortable?"

"Yes."

"I'm not. Well, I am. I'm _too_ comfortable."

"You're crazy," Mary Ann murmurs, pulling her blanket tighter around her shoulders. She's in her old bed in her old room in her aunt and uncle's house. Gilligan is as far over on the other side of the bed as he can possibly get without falling out, frowning at the ceiling.

Mary Ann had gasped when she stepped into her old room for the first time. Nothing had changed in fifteen years. Her teddy bear was still propped up on her pillow. Her mother's ballet shoes still hung from the doorknob. Grace had wanted her room when she got tired of sharing with her sister, but Martha would hear none of it. It was Mary Ann's room and it would remain Mary Ann's room. She would be back for it someday. Grace had gotten angry, told her mother that Mary Ann was never coming back, and got grounded for two months. Grace is next door now, eavesdropping, no doubt.

Gilligan slides around under the covers, pouting and scowling and muttering to himself, trying to get comfortable. He kicks her and apologizes. He settles in and is still for a few minutes and Mary Ann nearly falls asleep. Gilligan sighs and abruptly shifts again. He flops around like a caught fish, rolls over, pulls the blanket off of her. She snatches it back and he yelps in surprise.

Mary Ann lifts her head to peer at him over her shoulder. "Gilligan, what is your problem?"

"I miss my hammock."

"You've been sleeping in a real bed in Hawaii for eight months."

"Oh, yeah." He says it like he's forgotten. "Well, that bed's all lumpy like my hammock was."

Mary Ann squints at him. "Do you want to leave?"

Gilligan looks over at her. Her hair is falling in her face. She's groggy and mad at him and he should be scared, but he smiles. "No."

She flops back down and snuggles into her pillow. "You can always go sleep in the barn."

"Really?" His voice sounds brighter. "Can we do that?"

"_You_ can."

Gilligan's quiet for a while. He squirms again. "Rachel doesn't live here anymore, right?"

"Right."

"And Sam moved out?"

"Yeah."

"And Charlie?"

"Uh huh."

"And Maggie?"

She just grunts.

"And Jake?"

She grumbles something that sounds like, "What's your point?"

Gilligan thinks about this for a long moment. "Then why are we in the same room?"

Mary Ann should be insulted, but she laughs instead. She can't help it. She turns and stifles her laughter in her pillow. Mary Ann rolls over and looks at him through the darkness. As suspected, he's staring at the ceiling, clutching the blanket, a look of great discomfort and confliction spread across his face. Mary Ann sidles up to him and digs her elbow into the mattress, propping her head up on her palm so she can peer down at him. She pouts. "You don't like being my roommate?"

Gilligan turns to look at her seriously. "Mary Ann," he begins, shaking his head as if he's breaking the worst news in the world to her. "We're not married."

Mary Ann nods. "I know. Aunt Martha lets that rule go if you're over thirty."

Gilligan settles further into the mattress, pulls the blanket up a little higher. He doesn't like it when she looks so amused while he's trying to be serious.

Mary Ann pokes him in the ribs and he squirms away, trying to stay annoyed. She's grinning at him now and he doesn't like this either. "You're nervous because you're in a real bed with a girl."

Gilligan folds his hands over his chest and closes his eyes peacefully. "No, I'm not." Gilligan lies perfectly still, as if he's suddenly fallen contentedly asleep.

Mary Ann laughs. "Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not."

Gilligan feels Mary Ann wind her arm around his torso, her hand sliding over his abdomen under the blanket, and he tries to pretend that he doesn't notice. "Yes, you are." Her lips are suddenly close by his ear and her breath prickles his skin. "And it's all cozy." His right arm is pinned beneath her and he becomes very aware of her weight pressing down on him. "And snuggly." He feels her nose brush his temple. "And warm." Mary Ann kisses his jaw.

Gilligan doesn't move. "Mary Ann, I'm sleeping," he informs her evenly.

Mary Ann kisses him again. "No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"No, you're not!" Mary Ann tickles his sides and he lets out a strangled squeal. He tries to back away and keep from falling off the edge of the bed at the same time.

"Stop!" he forces out, trying hard not to laugh. "That tickles!" When Mary Ann finds the right spot on his back, Gilligan's foot kicks like a puppy and soon the blanket is in a heap at the foot of the bed. "Mary Ann!" Soon they're both hysterical, gasping for air, and he reaches for her hands, but is too weak to detangle her fingers from his shirt.

"Forget it! I won!"

"No, you didn't!" Gilligan grabs her elbows and is able to push her away from him and flat onto her back. She squeals and he grins, sitting on her to keep her from attacking him again.

"Gilligan!" She pushes at his chest, giggling uncontrollably, her bare feet kicking in vain behind him.

There is a loud bang on the wall behind the headboard and they both freeze, a tangle of arms and legs. "Don't be gross!" Grace calls from next door and Mary Ann clamps a hand over her mouth.

Gilligan's eyes widen in the darkness. He scrambles off of her and grabs for the blanket. "This is what I mean!" he whispers urgently. "I thought your uncle would make me sleep on the porch, or at least across the hall. I'm scared to roll over 'cause I keep thinking he'll know I moved and run in here with his gun."

Mary Ann smiles. "Gilligan, that's impossible." She gently brushes his hair away from his eyes and he smiles back a little, hesitantly. "I locked the door," she whispers and his jaw drops.

"Mary Ann!" Gilligan admonishes, pulling the blanket up to his chin.

Mary Ann rolls her eyes and collects her end of the blanket. "Gilligan, how long have we been together? Calm down. Besides, the kids are staying here this week, so there isn't room for you anywhere else. There are never enough babies in this house to satisfy Aunt Martha." Mary Ann turns away from him. She bunches her pillow up under her cheek and frowns at the wall. "She keeps telling me I'm not getting any younger," she says and closes her eyes.

"What's that got to do with me?"

Mary Ann sighs heavily. "Go to sleep, Gilligan."

Silence settles over the house. Mary Ann's not sure how long she lies there, but she knows he's still awake. Gilligan's brain never stops working, even at night. She's almost asleep when she hears him whisper, "Mary Ann?"

She grunts into her pillow, not bothering to open her eyes.

"Do you think they like me?"

"Who?"

"The kids."

"They love you," she mumbles.

Gilligan frowns at the ceiling. "They tease me."

Mary Ann smiles drowsily. "I tease you."

"That's different." Gilligan has his hands folded over his chest again, worry lines creasing his face.

Mary Ann flops onto her back. She reaches out blindly, finds his arm, and pats it sleepily. "They've been following you around like ducklings all day. Don't worry."

"Okay. If you say so."

"I say so," she murmurs, getting comfortable again.

"Mary Ann?"

She groans and slaps her hands over her face, rubbing her eyes. "Did the Skipper ever get any sleep on the island?"

"I'll say!" Gilligan exclaims, immediately forgetting what he was going to say. "He could win the World Snoring Championship."

"I don't see how."

"No, you have to _hear_ him."

"I mean I don't see how he got any sleep with you talking so much."

Gilligan pouts and she can hear it in his voice. "I'm sorry. I'll stop. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

"Mary Ann?"

She laughs, even though she really wants to cry. "What?"

"Do you think the Skipper misses me?"

"I do."

"Me, too. I should call him tomorrow."

"You should."

"Okay." He's quiet for a minute. "Do you want to talk to him?"

Mary Ann shrieks into her pillow in frustration. "Yes! Yes, I want to talk to him!"

"Okay. Mary Ann?"

"Go to sleep, Gilligan!"

Gilligan pouts. "I just wanted to tell you something."

"_Gilligan ..._," she nearly growls it, sounding halfway like the Skipper.

"It's important."

Mary Ann sighs gustily. "What? What is it?"

Gilligan's quiet for a long moment. He stares at the ceiling. Just when she thinks he's given up, he says simply, "I love you."

Mary Ann smiles into her pillow. She reaches a hand out behind her until she finds his. She slips her fingers between his and squeezes his hand. "I love you, too."

After ten years of trying to get him to notice her, letting him take her on all sorts of dangerous island adventures, flirting shamelessly with him, scaring him away, and then repeating this process over and over, her heart still does a little back flip every time he says it. She knows how shy he is about expressing his serious emotions, even to her, and she knows if she could see him in the dark he'd be blushing or scrunching his face up awkwardly. Sometimes she still expects him to get scared and run away.

Mary Ann stares at the wall and the minutes run together. She sighs. Now she's wide awake.

Mary Ann reaches down and rescues her old teddy bear from the floor and tucks him safely in her arms. She settles in again and continues staring at the wall. Her old Mosquitoes poster still hangs by the door. Beside it is a poster of Hawaii she bought after she found out she won the radio contest and would be going to this exotic beautiful place – for free! The image on the wall is obscured in darkness, but she can see it clearly in her mind – a pure white sandy beach arcing in a graceful horseshoe around a lagoon, palm trees, a mountain in the distance. It looks like their island. Mary Ann stared at it every night before she fell asleep in the months leading up to her trip, trying to imagine what it would be like to live in such a place.

Mary Ann stares at the darkened Hawaii poster on the wall, pictures herself and the six other castaways on the beach. She sees their huts, sees their visitors, sees their visitors leaving, sees all sorts of failed rescue schemes. The land disappears from the image and all that's left is the wide blue sea and she imagines little ships with little sailors on them. Mary Ann's brow furrows thoughtfully.

"Gilligan?" she whispers faintly.

Behind her, Gilligan sighs dramatically, clearly mocking her. "_Whaaaaat?_" he groans as if she's the most annoying creature on the planet.

Mary Ann smiles. Is that how she sounds to him? "How come you never told me about your medal?"

Gilligan's quiet for a long time. She's known him to fall asleep suddenly in the past, sitting at the table during dinner, even mid-dig on a new well only to be woken up by the Skipper knocking his shovel out from under him, but she knows he's still awake now, staring at the ceiling thoughtfully. She often wonders what he's thinking about all the time. Mary Ann's eyes are wide in the darkness, ready for a harrowing story about his epic feats of bravery. Or waiting to feel him shrug against the mattress and proudly tell her with a certain amount of swagger that it was all in a day's work in the Navy.

Instead, he says something so plainly accurate and so utterly Gilligan that she has to instantly forgive him for keeping her up half the night with his chatter and then not telling her what happened.

"You never asked."

* * *

><p><em>Mary Ann's cousins and their spouses won't really appear after this, but their kids will, so here's a little family tree to keep them all straight. I actually had to download a free genealogy computer program to put them all in so I could keep track of everyone, the kids' ages, etc. Oy.<em>

_George and Martha Summers have six kids.  
><em>_Rachel Summers married Daniel Wheeler (that poor kid from __Hurricane George__) and they have two kids, Annie (13) and Jack (12).  
><em>_Samuel Summers married Hannah and they have two kids, Tommy (12) and Emma (6).  
><em>_Charlie Summers married Elizabeth and they have two kids, Bobby (8) and Jenny (2).  
><em>_Maggie Summers married Andy Bloomfield and they have two kids, Joey (3) and Rebecca (1.5).  
><em>_Jake Summers married Lori and they have one child, Amanda (1.5), and are expecting another.  
><em>_Grace Summers is 19 years old and lives with her parents._

_I'm taking liberties with Kansas because I've only been there once. They live pretty far outside town, where there are the classic wide open spaces we all picture. I don't know what seasons things grow in or all the farming details, but I'm going for quaint and homey and adorable._

_This story turned out a lot longer than I thought it would be, so stay tuned!_


	2. Land and Sea

_I want to go live at Uncle George and Aunt Martha's house!_

* * *

><p>By noon, Gilligan has been kicked out of the barn, the kitchen, and from under The Big Table, which this morning is serving as an old mine. The boys inform Gilligan that he can be the evil prospector, but he doesn't want to be the bad guy and he shuffles away.<p>

Gilligan wanders through the kitchen where Grace is still on her hands and knees cleaning up the flour that he spilled. She watches him carefully as he passes and he somehow manages to step only on the clean areas and make it through the room without incident.

Gilligan stops in the hallway and picks up the phone to call the Skipper. The captain is thrilled to hear from him and inquires after Mary Ann and Martha and the rest of the family. He makes a joke about Gilligan becoming a landlubber and wants to know everything. Gilligan is halfway through his sad litany of morning blunders when the Skipper interrupts him to ask if that's George he hears in the background.

George had come inside through the kitchen door and is obliviously trailing flour all over the house. Martha is chasing him and yelling at him and he's hollering back – how was he supposed to know the floor was dirty and how the hell did all that flour get there anyway? Gilligan talks louder, ignoring the Skipper's question, and flattens himself against the wall as George comes barreling past with Martha hot on his heels.

George abruptly stops in front of Gilligan. "Is that the Skipper?" He grabs the phone from Gilligan before he can reply. "Hey, Skip! How're you doing?" He listens and laughs. "I know! Yep, got my trophy right here on the mantle. Quite a conversation piece." The Skipper's booming laugh echoes from the receiver. Gilligan frowns and drifts away.

Martha puts her hands on her husband's shoulders and pushes him down into a chair. George laughs again and pulls the phone off the table and into his lap, settling in for a conversation. "The boys are real proud that their old grandpa beat the Belly Buster." Martha yanks her husband's boots off his feet before he tracks the flour further into her house grinds it into her carpets. He has holes in the toes of his socks and Martha rolls her eyes.

"Martha hates it, though." George catches his wife's wrist and pulls her into his lap. He kisses her on the cheek and she punches him in the shoulder. "I know! Well, that's women for you." Martha gets to her feet and George smacks her affectionately on the rear. She scowls at him and then stomps away before he can see her smile.

"Yeah, he's fine! Trouble?" Gilligan's ears perk up and he wanders back to the doorway to listen. "Well, so far today he dropped a saddle on his foot and spilled a whole bucket of milk and Martha just stole my shoes 'cause my kitchen floor's covered with flour." Martha reappears and frowns down at her husband's hole-ridden socks. "Nah, don't worry about him, he's a good guy," George continues and Gilligan strains his ears. "The kids love him." Gilligan smiles smugly to himself and turns to leave, but the next sentence catches his attention.

"Gracie said she didn't get any sleep with him and Mary Ann next door. Said they kept her up all night." Gilligan's jaw drops. Even he knows how that sounds.

"George!" Martha hisses. "Don't tell him that!" She roughly yanks off his old socks and lets his feet slam back onto the floor. He's laughing too hard to notice.

Gilligan can hear the Skipper blustering incoherently all the way in Hawaii, but George is turning red from laughter. He holds the phone away from his ear to see how far away he can still hear the Skipper. He's hysterical, doubled over the side of the chair as the Skipper babbles.

"That's not what he means!" Martha yells toward the phone, but George shushes her and waves her away. She tosses a fresh pair of socks in his face and marches away to throw the old ones in the garbage.

The Skipper didn't hear her anyway and eventually George returns the phone to his ear. "Relax, Skip! Relax. Grace just meant that he never shuts up. How did you get any sleep on that island?" George shoves the phone between his ear and shoulder to put on his new socks. "So, when are you coming to visit? We've got a place down near the Oklahoma border that'll give you twenty bucks if you can eat twenty hot dogs in twenty minutes." George laughs and Gilligan turns to leave. "No, no trophy..."

# # # #

Bobby strides through the backyard, a man on a mission. He has a pint-sized duffel bag that his grandmother made for him slung over his shoulder. Inside is everything he thinks he needs for a harrowing adventure, including his lunch, which he insists everyone refer to as his "rations," a book in case he gets bored on his journey, a spare pair of underwear, and a fork because his grandmother won't let him have a pocket knife.

Bobby leaps onto the table. He sets his bag down and plants his hands on his hips, surveying the open landscape. It's his to explore and conquer. Martha grins and waves at him from the kitchen window and he scowls and turns around toward the fields. _This_ open landscape is his to explore and conquer.

Bobby opens his bag and pulls out the cardboard tube from a roll of paper towels. He peers through it into the distance. He nods decisively and puts his spyglass through his belt. Then he plops down onto the table to wait. Clearly his ship is so technologically advanced that he doesn't need to know how to sail it himself. He just needs to set the coordinates and then keep a look out for scurvy pirates.

He closes his eyes and pretends he's out on the open sea. When the breeze rushes by his face, he pretends it smells like salt and that he can hear seagulls in the distance. When his grandparents returned from Hawaii and told them that Mary Ann's boyfriend was a _sailor_ and was in the _Navy_ – _on the ocean!_ – Bobby immediately needed to know more about this.

He's wanted to see the ocean ever since he heard it existed. On the map it's only a few inches away in either direction, but in real life it's much _much_ farther. To think, people actually got to live in places where they could go to the ocean whenever they wanted, or even see it from their houses. All Bobby sees are dry fields stretching out as far as he can see.

Bobby went to the library and got books about ships and sailors and pirates and wars. He asked his teacher a thousand questions. His uncles made jokes about sailors that he didn't understand, but he thought they were brave and fascinating and nothing to laugh at. His teacher told him exactly how big the ocean is, but he's never seen a body of water bigger than the lake where his uncles go fishing. He finds it hard to believe that the ocean is bigger than that. No one besides his Aunt Grace ever talks about going anywhere else, but he intends to go somewhere, even if he has to hide in her suitcase.

Bobby hears a noise under the table and his eyes fly open. Pirates? How could they have gotten into the bilge already? They're obviously after his treasure.

He peeks down through the cracks between the boards. He sees movement, but can't make out what it is. He crawls over to the edge of the table and hangs his head over the side, parting the sheets he'd set up earlier that day and peering into the darkness. His eyes widen.

Bobby grabs his bag and hops down into the grass. He crawls beneath the table, making sure the sheet wall is pulled back behind him. "Hi."

"Hi."

"What are you doing here?"

Gilligan shrugs. "Nothing, really."

Bobby nods and makes himself comfortable in the grass. Gilligan is idly peeling a thick blade of grass into strips, which coil and disappear as he drops them to the ground beside his knees.

"What is it to you?" Bobby asks suddenly and Gilligan looks up at him.

Gilligan glances around the underside of the table. Very little light filters in from the overcast sky. It's a little dank and damp, the morning dew not having evaporated completely. The only sheets that were available this morning to construct the walls are a dark color, further limiting the amount of light shining into the space. "A cave," he says finally. "I had a lot of caves on the island. For when I needed to think about stuff."

Bobby nods in understanding. He looks around and smiles and Gilligan can tell that what he sees is much more opulent than some old wood and damp grass. "It's my ship. It's always my ship. Sometimes it's a canoe or a kayak or a schooner. Or even a pirate ship. But it always takes me wherever I want to go." Gilligan recognizes the look in his eye as the same look the Skipper used to get when he talked about his Minnow. "Today it's a guided missile frigate with a Phalanx Close-In Weapon System. They're new," Bobby informs him and Gilligan laughs. "Why are you in a cave and not somewhere cool?"

"Caves are cool," Gilligan huffs, but Bobby doesn't look convinced. "Bats live in caves. And sometimes there are neat drawings on the walls that cavemen drew a really long time ago."

Bobby points at one of the boards above their heads. "I drew a dog there when I was six."

"You see? It's just like a cave."

"What kind of stuff are you thinking about in your cave?"

"Grown-up stuff. I'm trying to decide what to do."

"About what?"

"About a lot of stuff."

"Oh. Can I wear your hat?" Bobby asks suddenly.

"What?"

"Just for a second."

Gilligan stares at him for a moment, dumbfounded. No one's ever asked to wear his hat before. It takes a gale force wind or Mary Ann to get it off of his head. He's nervous without his hat. Sometimes he feels like it helps keep him contained. It prevents some of the stupider things he thinks up from escaping his brain. Bobby's waiting, wide eyed and awestruck, but noticeably nervous that Gilligan will say no.

"Okay," he decides finally and Bobby grins. The boy scoots forward an inch in the grass, positively giddy. Gilligan takes off his hat and holds it out to him. Bobby reaches for it, but hesitates, almost afraid to touch it. Finally, Gilligan places it on his head very formally, as if he's officially inducting him into the Navy.

Bobby grins and raises his eyes, trying to see the brim. He tilts his head back as if it will help, like a dog chasing its own tail. He suddenly turns and opens his little duffel bag. He roots around for a moment and finally pulls an old pocket watch from its depths. He lays it in his palm and raises it to eye level, peering at it closely. It takes Gilligan a few seconds to realize that it's his compass.

"Looks like we're heading due east," Bobby announces and Gilligan nods seriously.

"Aye aye, Captain."

"No!" Bobby shakes his head vehemently. "We're trying to get to Antarctica!"

"What are you boys doing?" Mary Ann is kneeling in the grass, grinning at them as she peers between the sheets.

"Getting lost," Bobby informs her, sighing in exasperation. "I need to go up top and check on this." He gathers up his duffel bag and crawls past Mary Ann.

Mary Ann moves further under the table and they hear Bobby begin clomping around on top. She kneels down in front of Gilligan and ruffles his hair affectionately. "You let him wear your hat."

"That kid's a regular Captain Grumby."

Mary Ann glances around the hide-out. There are all sorts of treasures hidden under the table – toys and rocks and someone's half-eaten lunch. There are dog toys, baby dolls, and bunches of wildflowers. A blanket is rumpled in the corner for when the little kids don't want to come inside for nap time. "I see why they like it under here." Mary Ann takes both of Gilligan's hands in hers. "What's the matter? Why are you being a Lone Wolf?"

"I'm just trying to stay out of everyone's way. I caused a lot of trouble this morning."

"Says who?"

"Says me. Plus, your uncle told the Skipper all about it on the phone. I didn't even get a chance to talk to him."

Gilligan is pouting spectacularly and Mary Ann laughs, which only makes him pout harder. "Gilligan, it's good that they're friends. No one's mad at you for being a little clumsy."

"Your cousins all married guys who are strong and tough and good at everything. I can't even hand Grace the flour without spilling it all over the floor."

"They might be good at farm stuff, but I guarantee that they'd be totally useless on a boat. Whereas you –" Mary Ann leans toward him, propping herself up with her hands on his knees. "– are the finest sailor I know."

"Ahoy!" Bobby yells from above. "Avast ye ruffians and other scurvy dogs! Collective fire on the poop deck! Stand easy and take cover! Pirates and enemy subs off the port side!"

"Besides Bobby," she adds and he cracks a smile. "Everyone likes you. Especially Bobby and Aunt Martha. And me, but in a different way. The guys will be here tonight. You should try to get to know them."

"Maybe," he grumbles. Gilligan's lower lip juts out further and Mary Ann leans forward to kiss it.

"Lieutenant Gilligan!" Bobby calls. "I've got an aircraft carrier on my six, freebooters on the Charlie Noble, and I just got hornswaggled by a picaroon! Get to your station or we'll all be in Davy's grip!"

"You better not disobey orders," Mary Ann says. She kisses him on the cheek and wipes the lipstick away with her thumb. "Go play," she whispers and Gilligan grins.

Gilligan scrambles around her and out from under the table. "Stand down, you drivelswigger!" he yells, leaping up onto the table with a thud. "I'll handle this!"

"Belay that!" Bobby shouts back and Mary Ann bursts out laughing. "I'm the Admiral!" In the ensuing silence, Mary Ann knows they're glaring at each other stubbornly.

"Gilligan?" Bobby finally says quietly. He's hesitant, like he's wanted to ask this for a long time and has just worked up the courage. "Will you and Aunt Mary Ann take me to see the ocean?"

Mary Ann cranes her neck to look up. Through the spaces between the boards she sees their shadows still. "One day," Gilligan says and she smiles. "I promise."

# # # #

After dinner Gilligan reluctantly wanders into the barn. He had spent the afternoon sailing with Bobby, fighting pirates and enemy subs and disgruntled natives. He gave up trying to correct the boy's nautical lingo early on and they ran around spouting an odd mixture of pirate and Naval slang until Bobby was a muddy mess and his grandmother tossed him in the tub and then threatened to do the same to Gilligan.

Gilligan hears shouting from further inside the barn. Mary Ann's three cousins and her two cousins-in-law are gathered around her horse.

Flower is not happy. She snorts, pulls her ears back, and finally rears up on her back legs and the boys start shouting again, at each other to be careful and at her to calm down. The reins are pulled from Sam's hands and Flower backs herself into her stall and glares at them stubbornly.

"What's going on?"

The five men turn as one when they hear Gilligan. "Forget it, Sam," Jake says and retreats to the other side of the barn. He pulls himself up onto the short wall of an empty stall and leans against the post. "She's just as hopeless as she's always been."

"She wasn't always like this," Rachel's husband Danny reminds him. "You're just still scared of her."

"I am not!"

Andy laughs and nudges Gilligan. "Flower kicked him in the boys once," he says and Gilligan winces.

The guys laugh and Danny jumps up on the wall next to Jake and shoves him. "That was a very long time ago," Jake pouts. "I'm over it."

"Mom kept trying to put ice on it," Charlie says. "Are you over_ that_?"

"I'm fine!" Jake insists. "I can have children," he adds indignantly. Andy throws a handful of hay at him.

Gilligan stands in the middle of the barn watching them laugh and tease each other. They're not even all related, but they're like brothers. They're like overgrown twelve year old boys in their jeans and boots and they can build stuff and wield an axe and herd cattle. Gilligan feels like a fish out of water. Literally. This is the first time since he was eighteen years old that he hasn't seen a body of water every day.

Gilligan takes a step toward Flower's stall. She stares at him through big shining eyes. She's watching him carefully, but he's not scared.

"What's wrong with her?"

Sam steps up beside Gilligan and he sees the horse tense when she spots him. "She freaked out when Mary Ann went to Hawaii. It's like she knew she wasn't coming back. They had this weird bond. My parents got her for Mary Ann when she moved in with us. They thought it might help. She took such good care of this horse. At first she spent almost all day out here with her. Sometimes she even slept here. She didn't let anybody else touch her, which is probably part of the problem."

Sam pushes his hat back on his head and crosses his arms. "But when Mary Ann didn't come back, Flower went nuts. She wouldn't let us touch her. Annie was the only one she let near her. She had to do everything. If it weren't for Annie, she wouldn't have survived. She threw Jack off her back when he was seven. Dad wanted to put her down because he said she was dangerous, but Mom wouldn't let him. She kept saying Mary Ann would be back."

"But she's here now. She rode her this morning and Flower was fine. I saw it."

"She still won't let the rest of us near her. Not even Annie since Mary Ann got back."

"Can I try?" Gilligan asks. Sam glances over his shoulder at the other guys, who have stopped pushing each other and shoving hay down each other's shirts to stand up straight and stare at Gilligan in disbelief.

Sam squints at him. "Are you sure?" Gilligan nods, second guessing himself already. Sam shakes his head and lets out a low whistle. "Good luck." He hands Gilligan an apple and a brush and then steps back to watch.

Gilligan approaches cautiously, the apple held out in his palm as a peace offering. "Hey, girl." Flower snorts and shakes her head. Gilligan smiles hesitantly. "It's okay. My name's Gilligan. I'm friends with Mary Ann." Flower's ears perk up. "Yeah, that's right."

Gilligan's halfway into the stall, right in front of the horse, who's watching him warily. She sniffs the apple cautiously, keeping one eye on him at all times. "It's okay," he says calmly and Flower brushes her lips over the apple. She peers at him again and he nods. In an instant the apple is gone from his hand and Gilligan lets out a huge sigh of relief. "Good girl."

Out in the middle of the barn, the five men take a step closer. They're standing tight together in a clump, different levels of shock and disbelief playing over their faces. "Holy crap," Andy whispers. Jake has hay caught in his hair and is staring at Gilligan dumbly.

Gilligan cautiously steps around to one side of the horse. He lays his hand tentatively on her neck. Her brown coat is soft under his palm and he pets her gently. "I've heard all about you, girl." Flower shakes her head and Gilligan freezes for a second. Her mane flops over his hand. "It's okay." He pets her again, laying his hand reassuringly on her neck. He cautiously raises the brush in his other hand and runs it gently over her shoulder. "Mary Ann loves you. She didn't go away on purpose."

Flower makes a noise that sounds almost like a sigh. Her ears move forward and Gilligan feels her muscles relax under his hands.

The five men step forward again, still huddled close together. They watch Gilligan continue to whisper to the horse, too low for them to hear, as he brushes her.

"I'll be damned," Sam and Charlie mutter at the same time.

Danny is shaking his head. "He's the horse whisperer."

"You realize that we're never letting you leave now, don't you?" Jake asks. Gilligan grins up at them briefly before returning his attention to Flower.

"I wonder if he can do that with cows," Andy whispers.

# # # #

"Mary Ann?"

"Yeah?" She's wide awake tonight.

Gilligan hesitates. "That was fun."

She giggles. "Yeah, it was. I didn't know you'd be so good at it."

"You, too. You know, considering you're a girl."

Mary Ann sits up and glares at him. She plants her hands on her hips. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I didn't mean anything by it. It's just ... football's a guy game."

"Then how come I kicked your butt?"

"You did not!"

"I did, too! The girls won fair and square." Mary Ann turns to the wall and raises her voice, "Right, Grace?"

"Right!" her cousin calls back from the next room.

"For your information, the Summers family has been playing Monday Night Football since 1956."

"But you girls play dirty. We can't tackle you."

Mary Ann smirks at him. She lies down on her stomach and folds her arms across his chest, resting her chin on her hands. "Sure, you can."

"You shouldn't have won. I made the winning touchdown."

"But Jenny was holding the football."

"She's two years old! I'm the one who picked her up and carried her into the end zone." He clasps his hands behind his head, extraordinarily proud of himself.

Mary Ann giggles. "Yeah, the wrong one. Jenny's the M.V.P., Gilligan. Get over it." Mary Ann scoots up to kiss him and she feels his frown turn into a smile.

"Mary Ann?"

"Yes?"

"I tamed your horse today."

Mary Ann's eyes widen. "You did?" she breathes and he nods. "Oh, Gilligan!" she squeals and kisses him heartily.

Gilligan winds his fingers in her hair. After a few minutes, a random thought wanders into his head. He's been trying to remember that he wanted to ask her this all day. He tries to get rid of it, making a mental note that he knows won't stick to ask her later, but it won't budge. "Mary Ann?" he mumbles and she reluctantly pulls back.

"What?"

She's staring down at him rather impatiently. The tip of his nose feels funny where it's touching hers. He's completely forgotten what he was going to say, so he grins. "Hi."

Mary Ann smiles back. "Hi."

"Mary Ann?" he murmurs after a moment.

"Gilligan," she breathes, not giving him a chance to elaborate.

"I remember what I was going to ask you," he mumbles again and she drags her lips away from his.

Mary Ann drops her forehead to his chest. "What?"

"Which animal am I supposed to stay away from?"

Mary Ann sighs loudly. "The bulls."

"Why?"

"They can kill you."

Gilligan looks taken aback. "But I tamed your crazy horse. And a lion."

"They don't care. They're in heat." Mary Ann nuzzles her nose into his neck, hoping he'll get the picture and stop asking questions before the conversation turns truly awkward.

"It's not hot out."

Mary Ann groans and sits up so she can address him properly. She pulls her pillow into her lap. "Gilligan, it's mating season."

"No, it's not! It's spring!"

Mary Ann closes her eyes and sighs pointedly. "Just stay out of their way. They're trying to go after the cows."

"Why? What'd the cows ever do to them?"

Mary Ann laughs, mostly out of frustration. "Nothing! They just want to mate."

"What?"

"They want to ..." Mary Ann is suddenly embarrassed. Gilligan's waiting, watching her through those guileless blue eyes. "_You know_."

"What?"

"They want to ... reproduce." She's getting exasperated now.

"Reproduce what?"

"Have sex, Gilligan!" she finally shrieks. "Lots and lots of sex!"

"_Oh my God!_" Grace yells and Mary Ann throws her hands up in the air. Footsteps scamper across the floor in Grace's room and they hear her door rip open. "_Mom!_"

"Thanks a lot, Gilligan!" Mary Ann throws her pillow in his face and jumps off the bed. Light floods into the room as she flings the door open and hurries into the hall to intercept her cousin.


	3. Life and Death

_I have no idea when bovine mating season is. o.O Just go with it, haha._

* * *

><p>One morning a package arrives from Hawaii, courtesy of the Skipper.<p>

Bobby's duffel bag feels heavier than usual on that afternoon's journey. He opens it curiously and roots around among his provisions.

In the bottom of the bag he discovers a real compass and an official sailor hat.

He wears the hat everywhere. Upside down, just like Gilligan.

# # # #

Gilligan and Mary Ann sit on the floor at opposite ends of the living room facing each other. Rebecca is teetering on her chunky little legs, Mary Ann's hands on her sides keeping her upright.

"Aunt Martha shouldn't have taken you there, Gilligan. I'm sorry."

"Why? It was nice." Mary Ann's brow furrows. "Well, not _nice_, but ... I don't know. I'm glad she did." Rebecca grins at Gilligan from across the room, swaying like she's on the deck of a storm-tossed ship. "I would've asked you if I could go there eventually."

"Why?"

Gilligan shrugs. "We had guy stuff to discuss."

Mary Ann tilts her head, opens her mouth to inquire further, but Gilligan just grins at her and then turns to make a face at Rebecca. The baby giggles at him, then hiccups, and then laughs at herself.

Earlier that day, Martha wandered into the backyard looking for Gilligan. She had a shawl wrapped around her shoulders and a bunch of wildflowers cradled in her left arm, pushing her wind-blown hair out of her face with her other hand. She found Gilligan sitting on The Big Table with the dog. It was rare to find him alone, without Mary Ann by his side or one of the kids, usually Bobby, following him around. As she moved toward him through the tall grass she thought she heard Gilligan talking to the dog. And the dog seemed to be listening.

Gilligan stopped as soon as he saw her and grinned. "Hi."

Martha held out her hand to him. "Come for a walk with me, William."

Gilligan gave the dog one last scratch behind the ears and climbed off the table. "Sure, Mrs. Summers."

Martha glared at him good-naturedly. "When are you going to start calling me Aunt Martha?"

"When are you going to stop calling me William?"

"Never." Martha took his arm and steered him toward a dirt road running beside the field beyond the backyard. "It suits you."

"I don't know about that. The guys used to call me Goofy Gilligan."

"I don't think you're goofy."

Gilligan scuffed the toes of his sneakers in the dirt, kicking a rock down the road in a cloud of dust. "Where are we going?"

"I want you to meet some people."

"I don't know if I can handle meeting anyone else," Gilligan said, twisting around to peer over his shoulder. The dog was following them obediently. "There's a lot of you."

Martha smiled gently, a little sadly. "Don't worry. You don't have to say anything." They fell silent and the dog trotted out in front of them. He seemed to know exactly where they were going. Martha held onto his arm above his elbow the way Mrs. Howell used to when he'd escort her between the bamboo car and her hut or when she'd make him take her on walks through the jungle.

"Mrs. Howell and I used to go on walks like this," Gilligan said after a while.

Martha looked up, a bemused smile gracing her face. "Really?"

"Yeah. She was like our mother on the island. I guess Mary Ann and I are pretty lucky, what with having two mothers and everything. Or ... three, I guess," he added, glancing surreptitiously at Martha before looking down at the ground.

Martha beamed and squeezed his arm. "I don't think you're goofy at all, William."

Gilligan laughed a little and kicked at another rock. He shoved his hands deep in his pockets. "Anyway, she'd make me go on walks with her after I said something dumb that got Mary Ann mad at me. It happened a lot. Mary Ann would put her hands on her hips and sigh and make that face." Gilligan screwed his face up and Martha laughed. She knew exactly what he meant. Mary Ann had been making that face since birth. "Mrs. Howell would make me take her on a walk so she could tell me what I did wrong that time." Gilligan was silent for a moment when a thought struck him and he gasped. "This isn't one of those walks, is it? Is she mad at me? I know I talk a lot at night, but I'm trying to stop and she said –."

"No!" Martha tugged on his sleeve. "She's not mad at you! You didn't do anything."

"I spilled a whole bucket of milk this morning. Mr. Summers sighed at me and made the face. Is _he_ mad at me?"

Martha patted his arm comfortingly. "He makes the face at me at least once a day. The Summers family has been making that face for generations. You'll survive."

Gilligan nodded, still lost in thought. He frowned and squinted against the bright afternoon sun. "Mrs. Howell would keep telling me about how she was trying to make an upstanding gentleman out of me. I told her I could already stand up and she sighed at me too. She'd talk about social graces and passing on my name and taking on a man's responsibility. I'd just nod and tell her I'd try not to say dumb stuff anymore."

"I think she just wanted to plan your wedding," Martha ventured, waiting to feel Gilligan tense beside her.

To her surprise, he laughed. "Yeah, I know."

Gilligan told her about Mrs. Howell's matchmaking plans, beginning when they'd only been on the island a few months. This led into the story about Duke Williams and, although he didn't mention it, Martha could tell from the tone of his voice how much he disliked the hunky surfer. He described with a cheeky smile how the Howells thought Duke was really royalty. They talked about Wrongway Feldman and Dubov and El Presidente and Eva Grubb and King Killiwani. Gilligan acted out all the parts, changing his voice, his stride, even the look in his eye and Martha laughed delightedly.

Gilligan told her dozens of stories and she responded accordingly, laughing where appropriate, gasping and asking "really?" where she was supposed to, perfectly trained from raising seven kids and now being inundated with grandchildren.

Gilligan fell silent then and looked around. The afternoon sun and the quaint dirt road and the smell of the wildflowers were overwhelmingly comforting. He listened to the soft jingle of the dog's tags as he trotted along in front of them. Gilligan's arm was warm where Martha held it and he felt secure, lulled into serenity, a contentedness settling over him like warm blanket.

Then, though he wasn't entirely sure why, he began to tell her all about the evil Norbert Wiley. Safe underneath the sun and the wide open skies, he had the sudden need to tell her all the awful things they had experienced. He had an image of all the bad experiences floating up into the sky when he said them aloud, drifting away across the endless prairie and never returning to haunt them anymore. He told her about the dangerous cannibals and the Japanese sailor and the old munitions pit that swallowed them up one by one. He told her about Boris Balinkoff's experiments, Jackson Farrell holding Mary Ann hostage at gunpoint and, finally, about Jonathan Kincaid. Martha said nothing as he told her the horrors they had endured, which were surprising after all the funny whimsical stories he had just recounted. She said nothing, but occasionally squeezed his arm and gently laid her cheek against his shoulder when he seemed particularly agitated.

Gilligan wasn't sure how long they had been walking when they suddenly came upon a low stone wall. It boxed in a plot of land that Gilligan didn't see until they were standing by its gate. Tall trees loomed around the perimeter, engulfing the area in a peaceful shade. These were the only trees in the near distance, an oasis amidst the golden swaying fields. Houses and barns spotted the horizon on all sides, tiny in the distance. This enclosed space was the nexus, where all the neighboring lands connected. It was shared by all the residents and, from the looks of it, had been for generations.

Gilligan stood outside the wall and stared at the stones within, all different heights, sizes, shapes, and ages. There were some flowers, but nothing fancy. Martha let go of Gilligan's arm and moved to the gate, pushing it halfway open before turning back to him. Gilligan hadn't moved and she watched realization spread across his face, followed by mild panic. The dog sat down by his feet and peered up at him. Martha turned forward again, but froze when she heard his voice behind her.

"We were on the island for four months when they interviewed two of our Navy buddies on the radio. Guys the Skipper and I served with. They said they were going to stop looking for us. The Coast Guard stopped long before that, but those guys never gave up on anybody. They never left a man behind. That's when we knew you thought we were gone." Gilligan was staring over the wall like he expected to see his own name inside.

"I didn't," Martha said and Gilligan blinked at her like he had forgotten she was there. "George did – he got used to losing people suddenly – but I didn't."

Gilligan walked toward her and the dog followed. He stared down at Martha in amazement. "Really?"

She gazed out over the gate. "I feel Sarah's presence sometimes. Not as much anymore, but her perfume used to pass me in the hallway. I never felt Mary Ann, though." She turned back to Gilligan and lovingly straightened his shirt collar. "I knew you were out there somewhere."

Gilligan peered down at her. "Mrs. Summers, I've been thinking about a lot of stuff lately and I don't know what to do."

"Well, William ... why don't you ask them?" Martha nodded over the wall.

Gilligan looked over the gate, where her gaze was just a moment before, and suddenly saw exactly where he needed to go. The name jumped out at him, glinting in the sun where it had just been hiding in shadow. He turned and began walking toward it.

"Gilligan!" Martha called after him and he spun around. He looked shocked for a moment, then gave her a lopsided grin that lit up his whole face.

Gilligan took the flowers from her outstretched arms. "Thanks, Aunt Martha." Then he bent and kissed her on the cheek and strode away, leaving Martha and the dog to wait for him at the entrance of the cemetery.

In the living room, Rebecca is swaying on her feet like a little drunkard, the effect enhanced by the stupid grin plastered on her face. She giggles.

"Have you been there since you got back, Mary Ann?" Gilligan asks. Mary Ann doesn't respond, focusing instead on smoothing Rebecca's dress. "I had a real swell talk with your dad," he adds, but she doesn't look up.

"Becca, do you want to try to walk to Gilligan?"

Rebecca's brow furrows and she peers at Mary Ann over her shoulder. "Walk?" she repeats incredulously. Her little bare toes curl into the carpet, trying to grab hold.

"Sure. Go ahead. Walk to Gilligan."

Rebecca turns to look at Gilligan. He nods enthusiastically, his hair flopping into his eyes. He holds out his long arms, wiggles his fingers, reassuring her that he'll catch her. "Come on. Walk!"

"Walk?" she asks again, testing out the word, trying it on for size.

"Walk!" Mary Ann repeats. "Go on." She slowly lets go until Rebecca's standing upright on her own. She pats the baby's diapered rear in encouragement. "Go."

Rebecca frowns, concentrating hard, and looks down at her feet. She picks up one foot and pounds it back onto the carpet a few inches in front of the other, lurching forward like a robot. Her head snaps up, eyes wide, and she stares at Gilligan like she can't believe what just happened.

"Come on!" he says.

"Go, Becca! Go!"

Rebecca slowly picks up her other foot. She falls forward suddenly and both adults gasp, holding their breath, waiting for her reaction. She's fine, but she's pouting dangerously. Finally, Rebecca grunts and plants her feet beneath her again. She straightens her knees, her rear end sticking up in the air for a moment. She pushes off the carpet with her hands and gets upright.

She grins proudly. She's tough. She's a Kansan.

Rebecca's poised in the middle of the room now, arms stuck out to the sides, leaning forward slightly. Gilligan's arms are still stretched out toward her. Mary Ann's hands are clasped below her chin. All three are frozen, weighing the pros and cons, sizing up the situation. Rebecca frowns.

"You can do it," Gilligan says sincerely and her eyes fix on his. "You're strong. You're a Summers woman," he tells her and a slow gummy smile spreads across Rebecca's face.

"Go!" Rebecca suddenly yells and she's halfway across the room before they can react.

Mary Ann squeals, clapping her hands. "Yay, Becca!"

"Go! Go!"

"Come on!" Gilligan is laughing, beckoning her with his arms, but soon realizes that she's barreling straight toward him, a solid mass of baby fat. His eyes widen and she crashes into him before he can catch her properly. Her feet are in his lap and her arms are around his neck and she's yelling "Walk!" in his ear over and over.

Gilligan picks her up and holds her high in the air, her arms and legs flailing with glee. Mary Ann crawls over and sits beside them, laughing and applauding.

"Yay, Bex!" he shouts and puts her back down in his lap.

"Yay, Bex!" the infant shouts, bouncing on his legs.

"You walked!"

"Walk!"

Rebecca stops jumping and pulls back to look him straight in the eye. Gilligan's laughter fades away and the smile slowly slips off his face. Rebecca's suddenly very quiet, studying him through bright clear eyes. Mary Ann is watching them in awe. Rebecca stares at him intently. She's looking straight into him, directly into his soul and he can't look away. She puts her little hands on his cheeks.

Rebecca smiles at him. "Gill-gan."

# # # #

Martha is elbow deep in the kitchen sink full of soapy water and dirty dishes when she hears the screen door open behind her. She doesn't have to turn around to know that it's her husband. She has the rhythm of everyone's stride memorized. George's boots thud across the floor and she feels his arms slide around her waist.

"Hey, darlin'."

"Hi." She smirks as he rests his chin on her shoulder. "What do you want now?"

"Nothin'," he replies and she can barely hear him over the running water. He kisses her shoulder.

"I took Gilligan to visit Henry and Sarah today," she says as she washes the inside of a big mixing bowl.

"Oh, so you call him Gilligan now?" George asks, feigning indignation.

Martha laughs. "Jealous? It suits him. I think they'd like him, don't you?"

"Mmhmm," he murmurs, sweeping her hair off her neck.

"Has he come to talk to you? George? You're not listening to a word I'm saying, are you?"

"Nope."

"I'm serious. I think he – George, stop!" she giggles as his nose tickles the back of her neck. She tries to squirm away, but he's got her trapped between his body and the counter. He's quite a bit taller than she is and his arms, strong from years of hard work, are wrapped tightly around her. She can't move an inch, so she scrubs the inside of the bowl, trying her best to ignore his breath on her neck.

Martha suddenly elbows him hard in the arm. The hand that was creeping along her skirt returns to her waist. "Relax, Romeo." She lifts the heavy bowl out of the sink to wash the bottom.

"Sorry." George leans over her shoulder and kisses her on the cheek.

Martha turns her head to peer at him suspiciously. She's smirking. "No, you're not."

"No, I'm not."

George grins at her and Martha lets him kiss her for real. She sighs and the heavy bowl slips from her hand and plummets back into the sink with a loud splash. Waves rise from its depths and drench the front of her dress and his arms. She gasps and her eyes snap open. "George!" Martha turns off the faucet and grabs a dish towel. "George, I'm soaking wet!"

"Good. That means you have to get changed. I'll help." George tries to back out of the kitchen with her.

Martha twists around in his arms to face him and he pulls her close, backing her against the sink. "George, you'll get your shirt all wet."

He grins. "Then I'll have to get changed, too. You can help."

Martha eyes him warily for a moment before smiling. "What's gotten into you?"

"Nothin'," he murmurs, his face buried in her neck.

Martha laughs and winds her arms around his shoulders. "You're a dirty old man," she whispers in his ear. He mutters something – probably _thank you_ – against her skin.

She closes her eyes and a parade of half-thoughts wanders through her mind. She's lucky her husband hasn't turned into a cranky old man like some of her poor friends in town. They still laugh a lot. He still tells her he loves her. He's still affectionate with her.

A light bulb suddenly switches on over her head and Martha's eyes fly open. "George?" How did she not remember what season it was? "George, have you been down to see the bulls?" He grunts something unintelligible and she grabs his cheeks to lift his head. He looks disoriented. She narrows her eyes at him. "Did you take poor Gilligan down there?"

George blinks at her. "He wanted to come with us."

Martha stares at him blankly for a moment before she bursts out laughing. She throws her head back and laughs freely, used to this behavior and surprised at herself for not realizing it sooner. She looks back at him and tries to seem scandalized, but is laughing too hard for George to take her seriously. "You're disgusting."

"You're gorgeous."

"That stale line doesn't work on me anymore, George Summers."

"What line?" He gives her his most charming smile. Then without warning he grabs her around the waist and she squeals as he lifts her up onto the edge of the sink. He steps forward against the counter, trapping her again.

They're the same height now and Martha eyes him suspiciously. She's leaning in to kiss him when she suddenly feels water seeping through the fabric of her dress. "George, the sink is soaking wet!" she yells. She tries to escape, but his arms are strong around her waist and she's caught.

George grins cheekily. "So go get changed."

Martha glares at him and settles back down. "No," she insists. If there were room between them for her to stubbornly cross her arms, she would. "It'll dry."

George reaches into the sink behind her. "Will this dry?" He quickly picks up the mixing bowl and empties its contents down her back. Martha shrieks as the torrent of warm water runs down her back and soaks into her dress. She tries to move forward out from under the waterfall, but there's nowhere to go. She clutches at him with her arms and legs, trying to push him away from the sink, but he's too strong and his boots are solidly planted to the floor.

George shakes the last few drops of water from the bowl onto her back before depositing it back in the sink and wrapping his arms around her again. Martha is still clinging to him in vain, laughing over his shoulder. "You bastard." She punches him in the shoulder. She sits back and he grins at her.

Martha pulls his hat from his head and flings it across the room. George raises his eyebrows in interest and then bends down to kiss her neck. George doesn't see her reach into the sink behind her as finds her clavicle, his nose pressing into the little dip above the bone.

George cracks one eye open as he feels something warm drip onto the top of his head. He lifts his head curiously just as Martha squeezes a whole sponge full of water out above him. She cackles as she watches the water run through his hair and drip off his nose, little streams sliding down his neck and under the collar of his shirt.

George shakes his head like a dog and Martha squeals as the water flies from his hair to splatter over her. He calmly plucks the sponge from her hand and tosses it aside. Then he cradles her cheek in his palm and pulls her lips down to meet with his. This kiss is slow and romantic, his other arm still hooked around her waist.

They stay like that for a long moment, quiet and loving, until Martha pulls two handfuls of feather-light soap suds out of the sink and slaps them against his cheeks.

She starts laughing even before he breaks the kiss. Without a word, George turns his face and wipes the suds on her dress and then backs up and hooks his left arm under her knees. She's still laughing as he lifts her off the counter and she winds her arms around his neck. "Now we both need to get changed," he says. Halfway down the hallway toward the stairs he hoists her further into the air and slings her over his shoulder.

# # # #

"Gilligan? Um ... not to complain, but what are you doing?"

His face is pressed against her neck and he mutters something against her skin.

"What?"

He mutters the same unintelligible sentence as he moves up her neck. He reaches a certain spot below her ear and she instantly forgets that she asked him anything. The fact that he's acting completely out of character escapes her until he moves on.

"Gilligan?"

His arms are strong around her. His hands slide over her back, kneading fistfuls of her pajamas. His lips find her collarbone just above the collar of her nightshirt.

"I saw the bulls today," he offers as he lifts his head slightly to move to the other side of her neck.

Mary Ann's eyes widen. "You did?"

"Yeah. It was ..." Gilligan slips his hands around her sides and onto her stomach. "... interesting."

"The boys used to go watch the bulls try to mate with the cows. It was disgusting. They would –. Wait." Mary Ann grabs his shoulders and pushes him up so she can see his face. His eyes are closed. His hair is simultaneously sticking up and falling in his face. "They took you with them!"

"I'm learning about the farm, Mary Ann," he replies. Gilligan tries to reach her again, but Mary Ann locks her elbows to hold him at arm's length. "You told me to bond with the guys," he adds.

"Not like that." Mary Ann narrows her eyes at him. "They didn't take Jack and Tommy with them, did they?"

"No. It was just me and the guys and your uncle." Gilligan's whining now and it's totally annoying. Whatever mood he had been trying to create is gone.

"Ugh. Uncle George is the worst one. You're all disgusting." Mary Ann pushes him down beside her, detangles his hands from her shirt, and pulls the blanket up under her arms.

"I'm learning about the farm," he insists, cuddling up beside her.

They hear movement from next door and Mary Ann reaches up and slaps her palm on the wall. "Go to sleep, Grace!"

"Sorry!" she calls back. "No funny business, okay? I know they went to see the bulls."

"What are we going to do about her?"

"Get her some earplugs?" Gilligan suggests, still trying to snuggle up to Mary Ann's side.

Mary Ann swats him on the arm. "No, I mean about what she asked us last night."

Gilligan sighs. "I don't know. We don't even know what we're doing yet."

"We don't?"

Gilligan pretends he doesn't hear her. "Why would she want to leave here? It's fantastic."

"I wanted to leave here once."

Gilligan turns his head to look her in the eye. "Just once?" Mary Ann sighs and rolls over, turning her back on him. "I'm sorry I made you yell The S Word last night," he says quietly.

Mary Ann laughs. He sounds like his normal, confused, pouty self again. "It's okay." Her gaze settles on the Hawaii poster barely visible across the room. Next to it, the white background of her old _The Mosquitoes: Live at Carnegie Hall_ poster is glowing faintly in the darkness. "Do you remember when you asked me to the Mosquitoes concert?"

Gilligan grins. "Yeah, you thought they had come back to the island. But when you showed up it was just me and the radio playing a special Mosquitoes marathon. We danced on the beach for three hours."

"No, before that. When the Mosquitoes were actually there."

"But we all went to that concert."

"I know. But you knew I was the only other person on the island who actually liked their music, so you came over to the hut and we walked over together because you were so excited to have someone to talk about them with. Don't you remember?"

"Yeah. And we sat in the back row and danced and drove the Skipper nuts. I think I almost knocked him off the bench. He got so mad."

"He got mad at us like we were little kids. Sometimes I still feel like a little kid here."

Gilligan moves up behind Mary Ann and pulls her back against his chest. He lays his head on her pillow, his nose in her hair. "_I_ feel like a little kid here. Especially after the mess I made in the barn this morning. Besides, would Aunt Martha be hinting at little kids to get married and give her more babies?"

Mary Ann smiles, idly playing with his fingers. "That's true." Mary Ann lays her hand over his, lacing their fingers together, and holds his arm around her. "You did make a really big mess in the barn this morning."

"She's the one who gets to decide if Grace can go back with us, anyway. So don't worry about it, okay?"

"Okay. Do you know how long Aunt Martha and Uncle George have known each other?"

"A long time."

"Fifty years."

"A _really_ long time."

"They met when they were seven. My father and Uncle George were Boy Scouts. They were on a hike and got separated from their troop. They ended up in someone's field, totally lost."

"Some Boy Scouts," Gilligan mutters into her hair and Mary Ann laughs.

"They sat down under a tree to rest and acorns started hitting them on the head. They moved, but they got hit again. They finally looked up when a whole handful fell onto their heads and they saw two little girls up in the tree."

Gilligan frowns. "Does this story end with Boy Scouts getting rescued by girls?"

"My mother and Aunt Martha were best friends since before they could walk. My mother told my dad that she liked a man in uniform, but Aunt Martha stomped right up to Uncle George and told him that he was hopelessly lost, but she would help him find his way." Mary Ann rolls over to face Gilligan, pulling the arm draped over her around her waist. "And that's what she's been doing for fifty years. The four of them were inseparable after that. That made it so much harder."

"Why haven't you gone to visit them?" he asks quietly and she lowers her eyes to the blanket.

"Isn't that a good story, Gilligan?"

"Yeah." Gilligan leans his forehead against hers. "We have a good story, too."

"Yeah. We do." Mary Ann smiles and Gilligan feels her hand on his chest, playing with the front of his t-shirt. "It's amazing how they're still so much in love. It's like they're twenty years old all the time."

Mary Ann closes her eyes and Gilligan watches as her breathing slows. Gilligan hadn't gotten much thinking done under The Big Table. His walk with Martha helped, but he still hasn't come to any conclusions.

Gilligan tightens his arm around her. "Mary Ann, what do you want to do?" he whispers.

Mary Ann grips a handful of his t-shirt in her fist. "I want to be like Uncle George and Aunt Martha," she murmurs.

"Okay."


	4. Baby Race

_I think I'm uploading too fast, but I get excited and impatient. I need to calm down, though, because I still don't have an ending, haha. Glad you seem to be enjoying my experiment with original characters. I've fallen in love with these people. :)_

* * *

><p>William Gilligan and Rebecca Bloomfield are inseparable.<p>

She's the second girl he's ever fallen in love with. There must be something in the water in Kansas that grows them sweet natured, but tough and spirited, with giant brown eyes and infectious laughter.

"Rebecca said my name," he whispered, awe struck, when he woke up the morning after it happened, his forehead still pressed against Mary Ann's. She smiled and reminded him that she heard it, too.

Rebecca follows him everywhere. It's not unusual to look out the window at any given time and see the parade progressing across the yard and through the fields. Gilligan leads, Rebecca in one arm and the dog by his side, with a line of children behind. The numbers vary, but there are always at least two more traipsing along behind them, off on some new adventure that never gets related coherently to the adults.

Gilligan takes Rebecca almost everywhere and Maggie lets him, grateful for the rest. When they're not in a hurry, Rebecca walks herself, toddling along with her fist clamped around one of Gilligan's fingers. When they are in a hurry, Gilligan scoops her up and runs across the field, her shrieks and giggles floating up on the breeze.

When they're alone, sometimes Gilligan lets himself pretend that she's his daughter, just for a second. He tries the concept on for size to see if he can handle it. Every time he does this, it takes a little longer for it to get scary.

"You have your Aunt Mary Ann's eyes," he tells her one day.

"Eyes," Rebecca repeats and immediately pokes him in the eye to demonstrate that she knows exactly what eyes are.

"Ow." Gilligan winces and pulls her finger out of his eye socket, blinking furiously.

"Nose," she offers unprompted.

He pulls at the little hand clamped over his nose. "Very good," he squeaks out, high pitched and nasal, and she laughs as he finally yanks her hand away.

That afternoon, Gilligan and Rebecca come upon Mary Ann and Amanda in the backyard. Gilligan has his arm hooked around Rebecca's torso and she faces forward as he carries her toward them. She has to see where she's going; she hates missing anything. Amanda is standing on The Big Table next to Mary Ann, who's squealing and clapping for her. "Gilligan, look! Amanda stands up on her own now, too!"

Rebecca frowns, clearly not appreciating being upstaged. She sighs and twists around to give Gilligan the infamous face. Amanda is only a month younger than Rebecca and it's clear that the little girls love each other, but they couldn't be more different. Both take after their mothers and poor Jake is noticeably heartbroken that Amanda probably won't want to run around and hunt and fish with him like Rebecca would. But he has high hopes for his second child and he spends the evenings describing all the "awesome, manly stuff" he has planned to his wife's giant pregnant belly.

"Well," Gilligan says, sharing some of Rebecca's indignation, "I think this calls for a Baby Race."

Mary Ann looks up at him incredulously. "A Baby Race?"

"Race!" Rebecca yells, her arms and legs flailing happily. She kicks Gilligan in the gut a few times and he winces.

"Gilligan, Amanda just stood up."

Gilligan cocks one eyebrow. "Chicken?"

Mary Ann stands and gathers Amanda into her arms. She walks over and plants herself in the grass in front of him. She narrows her eyes at him. Rebecca and Amanda glare at each other.

Gilligan notices that Mary Ann has started wearing the old cowboy boots she found in the back of her closet with her shorts. They make her look feisty, which he likes. They also make her an inch taller, which she likes.

"Never. Amanda Summers is the fastest crawler this side of the Mississippi."

"Care to make it interesting?"

"Gilligan, are you putting a price on these children?"

It doesn't sound as interesting when she says it like that. "No. Well ... no. I just thought ..."

"If we win," Mary Ann says, hitching Amanda up higher on her hip, "you men have to cook us women dinner on Sunday. Everything. And you can't ask us for any help or ask any questions."

"And if we win, which we will –" Rebecca nods like she knows what's going on. "– we sleep in the barn tonight."

"Gilligan, I told you that you can go sleep in the barn whenever you want."

"No, I said _we_ sleep in the barn tonight." Gilligan takes a step toward her, the toes of their shoes touching in the grass, and Mary Ann's eyes widen.

Her mouth falls open and she stares up at him. Gilligan is grinning at her, almost smirking, and she's never seen that combination on his face before. Mary Ann keeps forgetting that he's a man in his thirties now. He's still goofy and endearing, but he's not the shy little boy she met over fifteen years ago.

Mary Ann slowly smiles back and raises her hand to make it official. "Deal."

# # # #

News of the Baby Race traveled fast. Mary Ann isn't sure about this, but everyone else seems to think this is the most interesting thing to happen since Harold Higgenbotham's pig gave birth in his living room. This slightly offends the woman who just got back from being shipwrecked on a deserted island for fifteen years.

Mary Ann's cousins are not the least bit perturbed by the thought of racing their children, which should be the first red flag. In fact, they think it's hilarious. Jake is hoping his daughter will lose so he doesn't have to cook dinner and Maggie, assured of her own daughter's victory, is giving Gilligan all sorts of handy tips about what to do with somebody in the barn. Martha peers at her and she assures her mother that she doesn't know these things from personal experience.

The second red flag should be the fact that the kids have built a course for it. A _course_. A roped off course. No ten month old child is going to follow a predetermined path unless she's chasing something shiny.

The third red flag should be the turnout. The entire family is gathered, but then friends start showing up. Mary Ann's childhood best friend Cindy and her husband Herbert appear. Mary Ann has seen Cindy many times since returning to the states, but that doesn't stop her from being totally mortified by outsiders witnessing this spectacle. The Higgenbothams wander over without their son. Horace is too embarrassed to be back on the farm after being dumped by Cybil Wentworth and too intimidated by this supposed ex-Navy man that Mary Ann brought home, not knowing it's the same scrawny red-shirted sailor from the television broadcasts and newspapers.

They're all gathered around, waiting in anticipation. Annie has a black gingham dish towel clenched in her fist, ready to wave the checkered flag at the beginning of the race. The kids sit in the grass around the course. The guys sit on the fence, conspiring together and taking bets. George is sprawled in a lawn chair, a beer in his hand and his wife in his lap.

Gilligan is giving Rebecca a pep talk. He has to physically hold her back, her little legs kicking at the grass, raring to go. Mary Ann looks down at Amanda and frowns. Amanda is sitting on the ground picking flowers. She grins up at Mary Ann and offers her a yellow blossom.

Gilligan holds Rebecca off the ground above the starting line. Her legs cycle in mid-air, her toes grazing the grass. Amanda offers Mary Ann a purple flower. Gilligan smirks smugly and Mary Ann turns Amanda in the right direction. The infant looks vaguely annoyed at being pulled from her flower picking. Martha lifts herself out of George's lap and kneels down in the grass at the finish line, facing the girls.

One of the guys shoots his gun like a starter pistol and most of them jump and turn to yell at him. But Rebecca takes off and she's halfway across the yard before Martha returns her attention to the race. Annie jumps to attention and waves her dish towel too late. Amanda hasn't moved and Annie waves the towel directly in front of her. Mary Ann turns Amanda around again and pats her bottom urgently. "Go on! Go to grandma!"

Martha is at the other end of the yard, arms out, grinning. Rebecca is barreling straight for her. People are screaming. George is leaning back in his lawn chair, red from laughter.

Andy is standing on top of the fence, waving his hat in the air. "Go, baby! Go!" Rebecca grins up at her father and abruptly trips, falling face first into the grass.

Silence descends on the yard for a long drawn out second before they erupt in shouts again. Amanda has started crawling in the right direction now, at a steady pace. Rebecca grunts and gets to her hands and knees. She turns and spots her cousin quickly gaining on her. With another mighty grunt, she pushes herself to her feet and the cheers get louder.

The little kids are jumping up and down. Cindy is grinning and applauding. These types of shenanigans stopped after her friend disappeared and she had forgotten how much she missed them, so she's in heaven now. Her husband, having not grown up knowing these people, looks mildly frightened. Harold Higgenbotham shakes his head – this might just indeed be more interesting than his pig giving birth in his living room.

Rebecca starts running again and in a few seconds charges straight into Martha's arms. "Race!" she yells, her feet still moving.

"You won!" Martha tells her and kisses her cheek.

"Won!" Rebecca shrieks and throws her short chubby arms around her grandmother's neck.

Mary Ann watches Amanda, who had gotten bored and crawled away. Amanda picks a pink flower and happily holds it up to the dog's nose for him to sniff. The dog sneezes on her and she laughs.

Gilligan saunters up beside Mary Ann. He glances at the barn and then back at her. "Wear your boots tonight," he tells her and then strides away to congratulate the victor.

# # # #

Gilligan's voice penetrates the darkness. "Mary Ann?" She ignores him at first. "Mary Ann," he repeats, louder, and she flinches.

"What?" she mumbles.

"Are you comfortable?"

"No."

"I am." He's grinning.

"Congratulations."

"The hay is lumpy like my hammock," he says. They're both staring up into the darkness, the barn ceiling looming high above their heads, broad wooden boards invisible in the gloom. "This is fun."

"There are probably bats in here." Mary Ann pouts. "And mice."

Gilligan sidles up next to her. He props himself up on his elbow so he can grin down at her. "Don't be grumpy."

Mary Ann sighs. "Sorry. I'll admit it's not as bad as I thought it would be."

Gilligan frowns and flops back down on his back. "I'm offended," he finally says and Mary Ann bursts out laughing.

"That's not what I meant and you know it." Mary Ann hooks her arm around him and lays her head on his chest.

"The guys said you used to sleep in the barn sometimes when you were little. When you first got Flower."

"She needed me."

"I need you. Can I tell you a secret?" he asks after a moment. "I cheated."

"You _cheated_? How do you cheat at a Baby Race?"

"I gave Rebecca candy before the race. She was all hopped up on sugar."

"Gilligan!" Mary Ann scolds him. She pokes him in the side and he laughs. "I cheated, too," she admits quietly.

"But you lost!"

"I scheduled the race at Amanda's nap time so she'd be tired."

Mary Ann twists around to peer up at him. He looks confused, but as she watches she sees realization slowly spread across his face. He grins. "You let me win 'cause you wanted to sleep in the barn with me!" he gloats and then gasps spectacularly. "Mary Ann!" he shouts, scandalized, and pulls back a bit. "Shame on you!"

Mary Ann giggles and moves until she's hovering over him, her hair tickling his face. She rubs her nose against his. "You've got me all figured out, don't you?"

"You're not very sneaky."

Gilligan is more relaxed out here, closer to nature, near the animals, the way he's used to living. Of course, the entire family and all the neighbors that were at the race know they're out here, which is not at all relaxing for Mary Ann. She can only imagine what they're saying. Especially since Jake overheard Gilligan's comment about the boots and brought it up in front of everyone for the rest of the day.

Mary Ann lies back down, her head on his chest. The hayloft is warm and smells of the fresh dry grass. Gilligan's heart beats steadily in her ear. A low rumbling noise echoes up from below them.

"Mary Ann?"

"What?"

"Your horse snores worse than the Skipper."

Mary Ann laughs. "I'm sorry."

"I talked to him again today."

"The horse?"

"No, the Skipper."

Mary Ann snuggles closer to him and tightens her arm around his middle. "I don't really want to talk about the Skipper right now."

"Okay." Gilligan runs his fingers over her arm, idly tracing patterns on her skin. "Bobby keeps asking me what the ocean is like."

Mary Ann laughs again. Talking about her cousins' kids isn't any better. "I hope you came up with something better than 'wet.'"

Gilligan's hand stills on her arm. "I told him that the smell of the salt can knock you over. The ocean is your best friend and your worst enemy. It's beautiful and dangerous. It gives life and it takes it away. It's huge and scary and inviting and calming. I told him that when you look out over the ocean, you feel so tiny, like you don't even exist. Like if you weren't there, it wouldn't make a difference. But it makes you feel alive, too."

Mary Ann lifts her head. Gilligan looks a million miles away, eyes fixed on something past the roof.

"Come with me," she says suddenly. She climbs to her feet, the blanket falling away from them. She grabs his hand. "I want to show you something."

Mary Ann leads him to the large door at the end of the loft. She struggles with the latch, but only a gentle push sends the door swinging open with a low creak. A pulley hangs above the door to lift huge hay bales into the loft, but there is nothing else beyond the threshold. One wrong step will send anyone plummeting into the barnyard below.

This end of the barn faces the massive wheat fields. No houses, buildings, or roads in sight, just an endless sea of waving wheat. As soon as the door opens, the heady aroma pours into the barn and Gilligan has to hold onto the wall. The moon is bright, illuminating the field in a silvery glow. The wind gusts past and the crops wave and undulate. The moonlight dances over the tops of the stalks and lights them like whitecaps.

It's a breathtaking sight that goes on forever. It doesn't seem as big on the ground among it. But from up here, tiny in the gaping hole on the side of the hayloft, Gilligan feels miniscule against the vastness of the prairie. His eyes widen and Mary Ann reaches out to take his hand.

"It's just like the ocean."


	5. Pajama Party

Mary Ann wakes the next morning with the distinct feeling of sea sickness. She cringes, squeezing her eyes shut. She thought she was back in her bed, but now she's not so sure. She had dragged Gilligan back to the house in the middle of the night, refusing to spend another minute in the barn after she swore that a mouse touched her foot. Gilligan found no evidence of any such mouse, but relented and gathered up the pillows and blankets and followed her back to the house, informing her that the bet wasn't fully paid because they didn't spend the whole night in the barn, at which point she reminded him that he cheated so she doesn't owe him anything.

The mattress pitches and Mary Ann groans and she's positive she's having a nightmare about the storm and the shipwreck and the grounding of the Minnow.

Then she hears the giggling.

Child giggling and Gilligan giggling.

Mary Ann pries one eye open. Joey, Emma and Jenny are jumping on the bed. Rebecca sits on Gilligan's chest, giggling like a maniac as he tickles her. The dog is lying across the foot of the bed, whining as he's jostled around.

"What's going on?"

"It's called a Pajama Party, Mary Ann," Gilligan notifies her. "Keep up."

"Yeah, 'Jama Party!" Joey agrees, mid-jump. He lands on Gilligan's leg and stumbles, falling face first into the blanket, his legs flying out from under him. Emma trips over him and nearly tumbles off the side of the bed. Jenny scurries out of the way, up toward the pillows to snuggle down between Gilligan and Mary Ann.

Mary Ann spots Amanda sitting on the floor. "How did you get out of your crib?" she asks as she pulls the infant onto the bed.

"Bex walk," Amanda informs her seriously, pointing at her cousin.

Rebecca grins. "Walk," she corroborates.

Mary Ann nods gravely. "I see we have a couple of jail breakers in our midst."

"Don't worry," Gilligan tells Rebecca. "We'll help you cross state lines. You'll have to change your names, though. How do you like Gertrude and Bertha?"

"No!" Emma yells, even though Rebecca is grinning.

"Name her Spiderman," Joey suggests.

"Barbie," Jenny offers in a tiny voice, her head on Mary Ann's shoulder.

"Spiderman and Barbie." Gilligan nods appreciatively. "The perfect cover."

Mary Ann winks at him. "Very inconspicuous."

"My Ann." Amanda reaches up and lays a gentle finger on the tip of Mary Ann's nose. "Nose," she informs her.

"Good job, baby!"

"Watch out," Gilligan warns her. "She's gonna go for the eye next."

"What?"

"Eye!"

"Ow!" Mary Ann pulls Amanda's finger out of her eye. Rebecca laughs like she remembers pulling the same dirty trick on Gilligan. But Amanda looks stricken. She pouts and lies down on Mary Ann's chest in apology.

There's a banging on the wall behind the headboard. "Hey, what's going on in there?"

"It's called a Pajama Party, Grace!" Gilligan calls back. "Keep up!"

"Mary Ann!" Annie hurries into the bedroom holding up two shirts. "I'm going on a date tonight. Which one should I wear?" Grace appears from next door, not wanting to be left out, and studies the choices as Annie holds one up to herself, and then the other. She repeats this a few times, switching them too fast for anyone to make an informed decision.

"A date? Does your mother know about this?"

"Mom's not here."

"Does your grandmother know about this?"

"Does your grand_father_ know about this?" Gilligan asks. Rebecca settles into his lap as he sits up to make more room for Joey and Emma, who are fighting each other for a place to sit.

"Gramps'll get his gun out." Jack wanders into the room eating a folded up pancake like a burrito. He shakes it at his sister. "I hope the guy's not chicken."

Annie rolls her eyes at him. "He's not chicken." She tosses her shirts on top of Mary Ann's suitcase and plops down on the bed next to Grace. "He has really nice arm muscles." Annie blushes and lowers her head. Jack gags dramatically and Grace shoves him.

Mary Ann raises her eyebrows in approval. Gilligan looks slightly affronted and she pats his arm. "I like little muscles." Gilligan grins. Grace snorts a laugh and Mary Ann kicks her.

"_Gilligan!_" Bobby flies into the room in a blur of red pajamas. Kids scatter as he leaps off the ground. He sails over the dog and belly flops onto the middle of the bed, skidding in the blanket and nearly knocking his younger cousins onto the floor. Jenny scoots closer to Mary Ann and she puts her arm around the little girl. "Gilligan!" Bobby sits up on his knees and points accusingly at the door. "Tommy doesn't believe all your island stories!"

The last cousin wanders into the room with a plate piled high with dry pancakes. "I just find it hard to believe that all those people showed up and not one of them got you rescued." Tommy sits down on the end of the bed. Hands grab at the plate and in an instant it's empty.

"Tell 'em, Gilligan!" Bobby shouts around a mouthful of breakfast. He's nodding vehemently, eyes wide and believing. "Tell 'em about the astronauts! No – the Russian astronauts! NO! _The lion!_"

Gilligan looks around at the sea of faces watching him. Bobby is right up front, giddy with anticipation, proudly wearing his sailor hat with his pajamas. Emma and Joey are slowly chewing on their pancakes, eyes fixed on him. Rebecca is in his lap, her tiny fists wrapped around his fingers. Annie, Jack, and Tommy are attentive, too, although trying to act casual about it. Even Grace, technically an adult, almost the same exact age Mary Ann was when he first met her, is sitting quietly, listening.

Gilligan's gaze moves around the group and finally settles on Mary Ann lying beside him. Jenny is curled up at her side. Amanda is fighting to stay awake, soothed by Mary Ann's fingers running idly through her hair and her heart beating by the infant's ear. Mary Ann smiles up at him. "Go ahead, Gilligan. Tell us a story."

They're all waiting. Waiting for a story about a magical tropical island, a place that people only read about or see in movies. A place where unexplained things happen and love blossoms and the odds are defied on a daily basis. They want stories about adventure and love and danger and freedom. They all want a different kind of story and he has one for everyone. But in the end all of his island stories are about family and he knows these kids understand what that means.

But which story to tell now? Maybe one they've never heard before.

"Okay. I'll tell you about the time I almost married your Aunt Mary Ann."

"You mean you didn't?" Jack asks.

"Well, why not?" Annie looks highly insulted. In fact, they all do.

Tommy sighs and tosses the empty pancake plate down on the bed. "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

"He's not dumb!" Bobby twists around and glares at Tommy.

"No, he's right," Gilligan says. "I was dumb. It was only supposed to be a rehearsal, anyway. The Skipper was going to remarry the Howells and he needed someone to practice on."

"Then what's the problem?"

"Were you chicken?" Joey asks, grinning.

Gilligan sits up a little straighter. "No."

"Yes," Mary Ann replies at the same time. The kids laugh and he deflates.

"So, tell us about this fake practice wedding," Annie says, chewing thoughtfully on the last of her pancake. "How does that work? Were there vows? Was there a ring?"

A little voice floats up from beside Mary Ann, "Did you wear pink?"

"As a matter of fact, I did," Mary Ann tells her just as quietly and Jenny grins.

Grace sighs. "Disaster. You needed us there to help you. Next time we'll have your back. Did he at least kiss you?" The younger kids grimace, but Annie raises her eyebrows in interest.

The older boys turn to Gilligan and fix him with a pointed look. "Come on, man," Jack says. As the oldest he feels the need to attempt some sort of manly bond.

Gilligan squirms. Mary Ann smiles up at him – _tell them_. He sighs. "I jumped off the raft."

The room erupts in sound, groans and laughter and shouts of "no!" echoing through the house. Down in the kitchen, Martha smiles over the frying pan. George lowers his newspaper and looks up at the ceiling, baffled.

The little kids are laughing. They're not sure what the aforementioned gross kissing has to do with jumping off of rafts, but it's funny any time someone falls off anything, so they laugh anyway. The older boys are groaning and yelling, smacking the blanket and tossing half-eaten pancakes back onto the plate in frustration. The dog whines and puts his paws over his snout. Annie has her face in her hands. Grace is shaking her head sadly.

"That's silly," Jenny decides.

"Silly!" Rebecca yells, twisting around in Gilligan's lap to grab a handful of his face.

"Don't worry," Gilligan says. "I won't make that mistake again."

# # # #

"Didn't you do enough of that on the island?"

Mary Ann turns from the clothesline. George is wandering toward her, hands in his pockets, shuffling through the tall grass. She holds up one of Amanda's tiny pink dresses and pouts. "It's more fun to hang these up than the Skipper's pants."

George crosses his arms and watches her untangle a ball of shirts, sleeves all knotted together. "Why haven't you gone to see your parents?"

Mary Ann pauses for only half a second. She pulls one of Gilligan's shirts out of the mess and shakes it out. She smiles. "I don't want to be sad right now."

"You used to go all the time."

Mary Ann pegs up Gilligan's shirt and watches it wave in the breeze amongst the boys' plaid shirts. It looks oddly normal. "I was sad all the time."

"Mary Ann, not going won't stop you from being sad. And going won't necessarily make you sad." George sits down on The Big Table and plants his boots on the bench. "If I know your mother – and I did, very well – she's going to be very upset if you don't go tell her everything that's gone on. Not that she doesn't already know. Because she does. But you should still tell her. You've had this great adventure and now you're home and you can get married and –." Mary Ann laughs a little and he looks up. "What?"

"Uncle George, it takes Gilligan half an hour to get dressed in the morning and he wears the same thing every day. He changes his mind every five minutes."

"About you?"

"About everything."

"Not about you."

"Uncle George, it's been six years."

"Not about you. Trust me. Anyway, now you can get married and have some kids and –." Mary Ann laughs again and he squints at her. "What now?"

"You heard him in Hawaii. He wants to get a dog instead."

"No, he doesn't. Your aunt was interrogating him. I wouldn't have answered her either. She's too damn nosy." George frowns and shifts on the table. "You've seen him with Rebecca and Bobby and the rest of 'em." Mary Ann has her back to him, concentrating on digging through the laundry basket. "This isn't about him. This is your problem."

Mary Ann peers over her shoulder at him. "You've been watching those psychiatrists on TV again."

"Come here." George pats the table next to him. Mary Ann drops a wet pair of jeans back into the basket and reluctantly joins him on the table. "What's wrong? You've wanted kids since you were three years old and you carried that piglet around for four months telling everyone he was your son. You even tried to dress him up."

Mary Ann smiles wistfully. "Oliver. We ate him."

"Sorry. It's a farm."

Mary Ann sighs. "I don't know. What if something happens to us? I don't want them to be ..." She trails off and looks out across the fields.

George raises his eyebrows. "Alone? What, like you?" Mary Ann nods. "Darlin', have you ever felt _alone_ in this house?"

Mary Ann smiles a little. "No."

"I can't even go to the little boy's room without your aunt barging in to yell at me about something."

"But I've already been shipwrecked. What if something else happened to us?"

"Darlin', _you've been shipwrecked!_ What are the odds that anything else is going to happen to you?"

Mary Ann stares down at the ground. She watches the shadows of the clothes waving on the line move across the grass like dark headless ghosts.

"You had a real adventure," George continues quietly, almost enviously. "Only six other people in the whole world have that same experience. That's special. You need to be grateful for that. Billions of people do it the normal way – they get married and have some kids and never leave their hometown. You get to have an adventure _and_ be normal. Don't live in fear."

"I don't know what to do," she whispers.

"You know what I think you should do. And you know what you'll end up doing." George slings an arm around her shoulders and pulls her toward him. He kisses the top of her head. "Baby, you know your aunt and I love you like our own, so you already know what she's gonna say, too. Your mama and daddy always gave good advice, so maybe you should go ask them."

# # # #

"Mary Ann?" Gilligan whispers. He sounds far away.

"Yeah?"

"How are you doing over there?"

Mary Ann smiles. "Fine. How are you?"

"Lonely." He's pouting.

"Poor baby."

She hears Gilligan moving in the darkness. He rolls over and flops around a little. "Mary Ann?"

"Yeah?"

"Why is there a third person in here?"

Mary Ann laughs and then quickly quiets. "Jenny had a nightmare," she whispers.

"So?"

"So, she's two years old. I'm not going to tell her she can't come in."

"Well, she's asleep now. I can carry her back -"

"Gilligan, do not move this child."

He rolls over and peers at them in the darkness. Jenny is asleep at Mary Ann's side, her head cushioned on her arm. One of Jenny's arms is slung over Mary Ann's abdomen. Mary Ann has one hand on the little girl's arm. The other is idly playing with her hair.

"She's in my spot," Gilligan pouts.

Mary Ann takes her hand from Jenny's hair and ruffles his briefly. "You'll live."

Gilligan bunches his pillow up under his cheek. "What was her nightmare about?"

"I don't know. She said something about Peter Rabbit. I think Elmer Fudd shot him."

Gilligan's eyes widen. "That _is_ a nightmare."

The door opens suddenly and a shaft of light falls into the room. Joey is in the doorway, backlit in his footed pajamas, sniffling and hiccupping.

Mary Ann lifts her head. "Joey, what's the matter?" He closes the door and pads to the side of the bed. His cheeks are wet and red and he's gasping for breath. "What happened?"

"I dreamed ... _hiccup_ ... and the guy ... the monster was ... _hiccup_ ... and he was really big ... _hiccup_ ... and I didn't ... the aliens were ... and it ate Kermit the Frog!" he finally blurts out and then hiccups so hard that he staggers back a few steps.

Gilligan's eyes are huge. "That's a bad one."

Mary Ann reaches up to wipe the tears from Joey's cheeks. "Oh, honey. It was just a dream."

"I dream a lot." Joey is standing close by the side of the bed, gripping the blanket in his tiny fists. He's looking straight at Gilligan. "When we have nightmares, Grandpa sleeps on the couch."

Gilligan squints at him. "Why?" Jenny chooses this moment to roll over. Her fist connects with Gilligan's gut and he winces. "That's why," he squeaks. He gently pushes Jenny off of him. "Well, I'm not leaving."

Joey shrugs. "Okay." He climbs over Mary Ann, one knee in her stomach, and slithers under the covers next to her, pushing Gilligan further over toward the other edge of the bed.

Gilligan peers down at Jenny. She's still now, fast asleep against his chest. Then he glances at Joey next to Mary Ann and frowns. "Now _he's_ in my spot."

Mary Ann rolls onto her side so she can smile at him over the kids. "They're cute, aren't they?" she whispers. Jenny is on her stomach, an unruly mass of brown curls obscuring her face. Joey is somehow asleep already, his tear streaked cheeks glistening in the moonlight streaming through the window.

"Yeah, I guess."

Mary Ann gently wipes Joey's cheeks with her thumb. Two straight lines are stained onto his cheeks where his tears ran down his face and dried. He's dreaming again already. His eyes move rapidly under his eyelids. His brow furrows and his little lips purse and he starts muttering. "Joey," Mary Ann whispers. "Shh, it's okay." Joey whimpers in his sleep and Mary Ann presses her lips to his forehead.

Gilligan watches in awe as the little boy's features immediately unknot. Joey stills and falls into a deeper sleep. His breathing evens out and Joey grabs for Mary Ann's hand, holding it tightly.

"Two," Gilligan suddenly says.

"What?"

"Maybe three."

Mary Ann looks up at him curiously. "Two, maybe three what?"

"In Hawaii ... your aunt asked me how many kids I want."

Mary Ann's eyes widen. "Oh." She looks away, across the room into a dark corner. "Okay." Mary Ann settles into her pillow and closes her eyes.

"What about you?"

Mary Ann sighs. "I don't know, Gilligan. Maybe we should get a dog first."


	6. The Genius

"You _made_ it?" Danny asks incredulously from where he's sitting on the kitchen table. He's swinging his boots, barely missing the dog sleeping underneath.

"Oh, man," Andy sighs.

"What's the matter?" Gilligan is elbow deep in a bowl of some sort of ground meat, trying to look like he knows what he's doing.

"Chicks love crap like that." Jake shakes his head. He's perched on the counter, twisting a dish towel in his hands. "Wait a minute!" he yells. "This guy's a genius!" He points at Gilligan, who looks up, wide eyed.

"What? Why?"

"Because _chicks love crap like that_! Sir, I'd shake your hand if it weren't covered in dead cow."

Gilligan glances around uncertainly. "Thanks?"

"Just don't tell anybody else," Charlie says from inside the refrigerator. He emerges, arms overloaded with ingredients, and kicks the door closed. "Elizabeth'll want me to make her something, too."

"You're making dinner," George says. He's leaning back in his chair, a beer in one hand. Jack and Tommy sit at the table with him. Jack is looking through his grandmother's recipe cards. Tommy flips straight to the back of a cookbook to drool over the desserts.

"Yeah, that's true." Charlie pauses in the middle of the room to ponder this. Two eggs slip from his grasp and crack open on the floor. "I can use this for at least six months. How come you're not helping?"

"I'm supervising. Besides, I don't need six months of insurance. I'm good." George winks and raises his beer can. Charlie rolls his eyes and steps over the eggs to dump the stuff on the counter.

"None of these make sense," Jack whines, squinting at a recipe. "_Put in some sugar._ What does that mean?"

"That's more than a little, but less than a lot," Danny informs him as he hops off the table and crosses to the sink. Jake whips him with his dish towel as he passes. Danny punches him in the shoulder and Jake falls back against the cabinet. The dishes inside rattle.

"Your grandmother doesn't need recipes," George tells Jack. "She just knows."

"Then why does she write it down?"

Tommy holds up the cookbook. "Let's just make this and be done with it." A giant chocolate cake looks back at them from the glossy page and the guys take a moment to eye it greedily.

"Why are we doing this anyway?" Sam peers at the different size measuring cups like they're from another planet, knowing that they ultimately won't use them anyway. "You won the bet."

"I cheated."

Eight heads snap in Gilligan's direction. They gape at him for a moment and he smiles hesitantly. Finally, they erupt in laughter.

"Awesome!" Andy slaps Gilligan on the back.

"I _told_ you this guy's a genius!"

In the backyard, the women are gathered around The Big Table. Every so often the guys' shouts and laughter ring out from the kitchen before silence falls again. They've locked the back door and closed the curtains after they caught Martha trying to peer in the window to spy on them.

"I have to go check on them," Martha announces for the fourth time and gets up.

"No! No, Mom! Sit down!" Rachel jumps up and catches her arm, steering Martha back to her chair. "Stay strong."

"They're destroying my kitchen! They're probably all half drunk."

"I'll go see if everything's okay. Don't move." Rachel crosses the yard and knocks on the back door. "Daddy?"

The door opens a crack and George pokes his head out. "Hey, baby. Everything's fine. Don't worry."

Jake's pregnant wife Lori leans back in her chair, wincing. "Tell him I want strawberry ice cream and pickles."

"You'll have meat like the rest of us!" George pulls back inside the house and locks the door.

Rebecca is sitting on the table in front of her mother, taking inventory of her face. Maggie has her eyes squeezed tightly shut. "Forget it. We're going to end up with potato chips and a jar of olives," Maggie says.

Rebecca grabs her lips and yells, "Mouth!"

"What's wrong with that?" Grace asks.

"Everything," Elizabeth replies and Grace makes a face.

Hannah looks up from setting the table to share a look with Grace. "You're no fun."

Mary Ann sits next to Lori. Amanda is in her lap studying her red nail polish. Amanda twists around to look up at her. "Wed," she informs her seriously. The other little kids are running around in circles, chasing each other and screaming, forced to concoct some new game that doesn't involve the table.

Annie is sprawled out at the end of the table, head down and arms spread across the planks. "We're going to die of starvation," she murmurs. "I won't get my second date with the guy with the good arms."

"You went on a _date_?" her mother asks before turning on her own mother.

Martha shrugs. "Your father got out his gun. Don't worry. He passed the test."

Maggie peers around Rebecca at her niece. "Talk to me about his arms."

"Arms!" Rebecca yells and leans down to grab her mother's arm. She topples off the table and falls into her lap.

Jake sits on the counter, staring at Gilligan in anticipation. He keeps picking pieces of raw dough off of the pie crust that Sam's is trying to roll out. It keeps getting smaller and smaller and Sam keeps hitting him. "Well?" Jake asks, waving the dough in the air impatiently.

"Well what?" Gilligan asks. He doesn't look at him. He's squirming, concentrating really hard on the bowl in front of him.

"_Well_?" Andy repeats, trying to pick eggshells out of his own bowl. His nose is nearly touching the batter as he peers into the bowl's depths, chasing the slippery shell around the inside.

Danny is back on the table, swinging his boots. He throws a balled up dish towel at Gilligan. It hits his back and flops to the floor. "You gonna ask her or what?"

"Do you think I should?"

"Yes!" they all shout at once and Gilligan flinches. He hides his grin in the bowl.

"Really?" he asks, trying not to sound too eager. He quiets then, frowning. "She said she wants to get a dog," he whispers.

George shakes his head. "Don't listen to her, boy." He points at Gilligan with his beer can. "I've talked to her about that. She doesn't mean it."

Charlie slaps him on the back as he crosses to the refrigerator. "We told you we're never letting you leave, remember?"

Sam nudges him in the ribs. "You're one of us now. Sorry." Jake steals more dough and Sam slaps him. He grabs it back and sticks it into the ball of dough, which is significantly smaller than when he started.

"You're the horse whisperer," Andy reminds him.

"And a genius!" Jake calls as he grabs at more dough. Sam hits him again and a struggle ensues and the big ball of dough flies onto the floor in the center of the room.

Everyone freezes. They gape at it. They hold their breath. They glance at each other. Their ears perk up, straining to hear anything outside.

"What's going on in there?" Martha calls from directly outside the door and they all jump.

"Five second rule," George whispers. "Pick it up! Pick it up!"

Four guys dive for the dough, falling all over each other. Charlie slips on the cracked eggs and falls on top of Andy. Danny trips over them and skids into the refrigerator. Sam plucks the dough off the floor and dusts it off.

Jake is laughing from up on the counter. Gilligan stands next to him, dumbfounded, but grinning. For once he's not the guy on the ground.

Martha is on the back steps listening to the noises in her kitchen – scrambling, scuffing of boots, muffled curses and then loud shushing. "What are you boys doing?" she calls and everything goes deathly silent.

After a moment, she hears the lock unlatch and the door opens a crack. George's head pops through, all smiles, and Martha tries to peer around him into the kitchen. She thinks she spots eggs on her floor, but he quickly moves so his body is blocking the entire opening. "Hey, darlin'!"

"Don't _darlin'_ me." She pokes him in the chest. "You're making a mess."

"No, we're not." George grins, puffs out his chest. "We're providing for our women folk."

Martha rolls her eyes. "Yeah? Well, do it neatly."

"Yes, ma'am." George kisses her on the forehead and ducks back into the house, slamming the door and jamming the lock into place.

Martha frowns and wanders back to the table. "They're up to something."

"I'm sorry about Gilligan, Aunt Martha. He's a little clumsy."

Martha sighs. "It's not him. It's my tribe of Neanderthals."

"You realize that we're not eating tonight?" Rachel asks.

"I'd be perfectly happy with _ice cream and pickles_!" Lori calls toward the house, hoping the guys can hear her.

Elizabeth frowns down at the table. "We're all going to get food poisoning and die."

"That's it. Think positively." Hannah raises her eyebrows at Grace, who shrugs.

"I'm going to die alone," Annie moans, face down on the table. "No second date with arm guy."

"Do you even know his name?" Maggie asks, fighting to keep a squirming Rebecca in her lap and off the table.

Annie sighs dramatically. "What does it matter? I'll never see him again."

The guys are gathered around the stove, peering down at the cooktop. Danny scratches the back of his head. Jake's head tilts to the side, as if a new angle will change what he sees.

"I'm not sure this is right," Sam mutters.

Bowls, spatulas, measuring cups, and other utensils cover the counters, the table, and every other available space. The eggs are still on the floor, gooey egg whites beginning to seep in between the floorboards. There is flour on the floor, in Jake's hair, and on the dog, who is whining and scratching at the back door to be let out. He wants no part of this.

"You guys have no idea what you're doing, do you?" Jack asks from the table. He and Tommy and George are watching the other guys with great amusement.

"Sure, we do."

They stare at the stove some more.

Jack and Tommy grin at them. "We don't think you do."

"We're fine over here. You just focus on the job we gave you," Charlie says, waving them away.

"We're done."

The guys turn around. "You made bread?"

Jack and Tommy nod. They each raise a hand, revealing a loaf of bread from the grocery store, plastic bags clenched in their fists. They grin. George nods in approval. "Resourceful."

The guys grumble. "At least put it on a plate," Andy mutters. "What, were you raised in a barn?"

Tommy shrugs. "Kinda."

"Why are we even here?" Jack asks.

"You're always complaining about how you want to be treated like adults, right?" Sam asks.

"We have to cook," Charlie tells them, "so you have to cook."

The boys look at each other. George toasts them with his beer can. "Congratulations. Today you are men."

Gilligan is peering at the stove. He tilts his head and squints. "I don't think you're supposed to cook hamburgers right on the stove."

Jake shrugs. "It's working, though."

"And besides," Andy adds, "instead of straight grill lines, these'll be all swirly. It's fancy. Women like fancy stuff."

They go silent. Someone coughs. Jake cracks open a beer. They stare at the hamburger sizzling on the heating element. After another second it bursts into flames and the guys jump back.

In the yard, Lori is whining. "I really just want ice cream."

"Me, too," Grace mutters.

Hannah raises her hand. "Me, three."

"With pickles," Lori adds and Hannah puts her hand down.

"Never mind."

Grace sighs. "I'd still eat it."

"Does everyone get cravings like that?" Mary Ann asks hesitantly.

"Why?" Martha turns on her, wide eyed. "Is there something you want to tell us? I won't be mad that you're not married yet. You're not getting any younger."

"No! I'm just curious!"

"Oh." Martha lets go of her arm. She's noticeably disappointed. "Are you sure? Do you want some of Lori's pickles and ice cream?"

"Aunt Martha!"

"I didn't even get it and she's giving it away already," Lori pouts.

"I used to want cheese and chocolate together," Hannah offers.

Elizabeth plays with her spoon. "Applesauce with tuna."

"I ate nothing but Cheerios for six months," Maggie says.

"O's!" Rebecca yells. "O's!" She looks around for them, grabbing at her mother's hands.

Maggie raises her eyebrows. "You see?"

"With Jack I wanted cake," Rachel muses. "Annie was asparagus."

"Ew!" Annie raises her head from the table and grimaces.

Lori shifts in her chair. "I won't be eating anything if he doesn't stop kicking me." She glares down at her stomach. "Stop kicking me!"

Mary Ann peers at Lori's belly. She thinks she sees it move and her eyes widen. Lori winces and Mary Ann knows she saw him kick her. "Can ... can I feel?" she asks cautiously. Pregnant women probably hate it when people try to touch their stomachs.

But Lori shrugs. "Sure."

Mary Ann and Amanda scoot closer. Amanda lays her little hand on her mother's belly. She turns to grin at Mary Ann. "Baby," she informs her and rests her cheek next to her hand.

Mary Ann reaches out gently. She holds her breath, waiting. Everyone around the table has gone silent.

Lori pokes the other side of her stomach. "Go ahead," she tells the baby. "Say hi to Aunt Mary Ann."

Mary Ann presses her palm firmly to Lori's stomach. She concentrates, willing the baby to let her know he's there. He's taking his time, especially after his mother told him to stop kicking her. Mary Ann turns her head away and closes her eyes.

Finally, she feels it. She gasps and her eyes fly open. Amanda giggles. It wasn't a little tentative baby kick; it was a big hearty Summers man kick. He kicks her again and Mary Ann laughs.

"That's amazing," she whispers. "It's –."

A loud explosion rattles the table and the women all jump. The kids screech to a halt in their haphazard running around the yard and stare dumbly at the house.

The kitchen window has blown out and the men's shouts from inside the house are louder. They yell at each other with spectacular volume and then abruptly fall into a stunning silence.

For one long drawn-out, oddly peaceful moment, the women almost swear that it's Christmas as they're showered with something light raining out from the kitchen window.

Grace picks a piece up off the table and turns it over in her hand. "How did they get lettuce to explode?"

Martha is already stalking toward the house. "You all better be dead in there!" she shrieks. She's on the back steps, red faced, glaring at the kitchen door. "Because you'll wish you were when I get through with you!" She grabs the doorknob, rattles it a few times, bangs on the door. "George!"

Martha cocks her head and turns her ear to the door, listening, her hands balled into fists at her sides. The silence stretches out for another long moment until the guys burst out laughing.

# # # #

"Mary Ann?"

"Yeah?"

"It wasn't my fault." He sounds so proud of himself.

Mary Ann laughs. "I know, Gilligan."

"Really. For once, it really _really_ wasn't my fault!"

Mary Ann rolls over to face him. "Congratulations."

He's grinning. "Thanks! I even told the guys that I didn't think it was a good idea to cook the hamburgers like that, but they didn't listen to me."

When the guys finally got their act together in the kitchen, Gilligan stuck his head out the broken window and assured the women that they were all okay. Martha was giving him the evil eye and he gulped and ducked back inside. They refused to open the door until they were finished making dinner, just like they promised. Martha stalked around to the front of the house and found every door and window tightly locked against her, so she resorted to standing in the back yard glaring at the broken window, her sons awkwardly trying not to look at her every time they walked past.

When the men finally emerged from the house, strutting proudly, it was with a surprisingly delicious dinner. Hamburgers and potato salad and a pie that was too small for all of them to get a piece of because Jake ate half the dough raw. But no salad, since the magical exploding lettuce was littering the back yard like confetti. Martha seemed halfway impressed, but told them that in no uncertain terms did this mean they were off the hook.

Gilligan was the last one out of the house, a small bowl in his hands. He put the ice cream and pickles down in front of Lori and she squealed. She grabbed his neck and pulled him down to kiss his cheek. Mary Ann beamed at him and thought she heard Jake mutter something about him being a genius from across the table.

"_I_ told the guys it was a bad idea!" Gilligan repeats himself for the fourth time, his voice confident in the darkness. "It's not my fault!"

Mary Ann rolls her eyes and smiles at him. "What do you want, a medal?"

"No. I already have one of those."

Mary Ann scoots closer to him. "How 'bout a kiss instead?" she whispers.

"I already had one of those today, too."

"Oh. Okay, then." Mary Ann starts to turn away, but Gilligan pulls her back.

Mary Ann feels him brush her hair off her face and tuck it behind her ear. Her eyes are adjusting to the darkness and she can see him grinning at her. "I'm kidding."

"You better be," she says just as their lips touch. She closes her eyes and her fingers wind in his t-shirt.

"Mary Ann?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"You disappeared after dinner."

After dinner, the men were assigned dish duty while the women stood watch, Martha talking endlessly about her broken window. Her husband kept giving her his most charming smile and promised to fix it, better than new, and kept trying to put his arms around her, but she was having none of it. Mary Ann wandered into the living room, where the kids were hard at work on something. Annie hid whatever she had in her hand under the coffee table when Mary Ann appeared. Construction paper littered the floor, the little kids getting frustrated with the dull scissors that didn't cut completely. Amanda sat in a pile of glitter, grinning happily as the others scowled at her. She held up her piece of red paper to Mary Ann. "Wed," she told her. The others would tell Mary Ann nothing, except that Amanda was getting in the way, so Mary Ann scooped her up on her way through the room and took her outside. Amanda looked her straight in the eye as they crossed through the back yard. "Wed," she said seriously.

"I went to see my parents."

Gilligan snaps back to attention, looking at her seriously. "Really?" She nods. "I would have gone with you."

"It's okay. Amanda came with me."

"Yeah. You still have glitter on you." Gilligan pulls his fingers through her hair. The gold specks sparkle in the moonlight shining through the window like pixie dust and he smiles.

"What were the kids making?"

Gilligan's silent for a moment. He glances away from her and frowns ever so slightly. "I don't know. How'd it go?" he asks quickly.

"Good. It helped." Her smile fades slowly. "I miss them."

"I know." Gilligan takes his hand from her shimmering hair and wipes away the one tear that has escaped and is perched on the side of her nose. "Mary Ann?"

"Yeah?"

"I like it here."

She smirks at him. "In my room? Took you long enough."

"No." He's smiling and she can hear it in his voice. "In Kansas."

Mary Ann takes his hands, tightly entwining her fingers with his. Moonlight streams in the window behind him and his face is cast in shadow, but she can tell that he's still grinning. She can see the glitter from her hair sparkling on the pillowcase and the blanket. It's almost magic.

"Two," Mary Ann says suddenly.

"What?"

"Maybe three."

Mary Ann watches as realization spreads across Gilligan's face, pulling his grin even wider. "Really? No dog?"

"We can get a dog, too," she says and his eyes widen like he's just gotten everything he's ever wanted for Christmas and she laughs.


	7. Caves

Mary Ann has been looking everywhere for Gilligan. She's been through the house four times, down to the barn twice, even digging through the hay loft, down to the stream, and to the tire swing under the giant tree. She even looked in the tree.

The night before, Gilligan was so excited about the prospect of eventually having two, maybe three children _and_ a dog that he sat up straight, hair sticking up in twenty different directions, and asked Mary Ann if she was sure. As if she would lie to him about something like that. She nodded and he leapt up and proceeded to jump up and down on the bed as if he were four years old himself. He landed on his knees and pulled Mary Ann into his arms and kissed her deeper and more meaningfully than he'd ever kissed her before. Mary Ann was too stunned to do anything and when he finally let her go to resume his jumping on the bed she flopped backward, weak and breathless. Mary Ann half laughed and half shushed him as he kept jumping, throwing out names faster than she was able to determine if they were intended for humans or canines. If this was his reaction now, Mary Ann couldn't even imagine what he'd do when they were married and pregnant with a dog shedding all over the house. Gilligan landed on his knees again and gathered Mary Ann into his arms until she was kneeling in front of him, her fingers gripping his t-shirt near his ribs. He took her cheeks in his hands, knocking more glitter from her hair, and looked intensely into her eyes. _We're gonna have the best life ever_, he whispered and Mary Ann wholeheartedly believed him.

Today, however, Gilligan is nowhere to be found. It's almost like he's avoiding her.

As she passes The Big Table for the fifth time on her way into the house, Mary Ann sees a shadow move beneath it. The sheets are up around the table, held taught on top and in the grass with rocks and buckets and dirty old boots. That morning, Joey immediately declared this newest fort his spaceship and wedged a little American flag in between two of the boards on top of the table. He kidnapped Jenny and told her she was his alien prisoner. After a while she got bored and wandered away. While Joey was looking for someone else to capture, Bobby appeared and planted the Jolly Roger in the table, proclaiming that this was a ship and he was sailing the seven seas just like Blackbeard and Christopher Columbus and Gilligan. Joey told him that was dumb and they argued and stomped into the house to summon a verdict from their grandmother, who told them to be nice and go do something else.

Mary Ann stands in the deserted backyard and peers at the sheets, their edges ruffling gently in the breeze. It's too quiet. Everyone is suspiciously missing and she knows something's going on. She plants her hands on her hips. "Gilligan?"

There's no response, but she hears rustling in the grass behind the sheet.

Mary Ann sighs loudly. "Oh, well, I guess I'll never find him." She waits a few moments, the appropriate amount of time it'd take for her to reach the house, before kneeling down in the grass. She gently parts the sheets and giggles. "Gilligan, what are you doing?"

Mary Ann crawls under the table, the sunlight that had poured into the hide-out extinguishing as she carefully pulls the sheet back into place behind her. She sits across from him and peers around the space. Sunlight filters in between the boards, drawing sharp yellow lines in the grass. The shadows play across Gilligan's face, a shaft of light cutting straight down his nose. The grass grows thicker and softer here, only cut in the colder months after the table is moved for the winter. There are no toys and half-eaten lunches under the table today, just a few bunches of wildflowers. "What are you doing under here?"

"Waiting for you."

"Why didn't you just come find me?"

Gilligan looks at her as if this is the most ludicrous suggestion he's ever heard. "Because that would ruin it."

"Ruin what?"

Gilligan looks around the makeshift sheet fort, at once a prehistoric cave and steamship cabin and shuttle capsule. He smiles appreciatively and Mary Ann wonders if he helped the boys with this newest construction project. "What is it to you?" he asks.

Mary Ann looks around again. She begins to notice details that she overlooked when she first crawled beneath the table. The sides are constructed from green and white gingham sheets. The sun shines through them and bathes the entire underside of the table in a warm emerald glow, enclosing them in a lush cocoon not unlike the island's leafiest clearings. Dust particles and pollen shimmer in the half-light like pixie dust.

Little construction paper butterflies are hanging from the underside of the table. Dozens of them, reds, purples, blues, and oranges. Mary Ann gasps with realization and Gilligan grins. She reaches up and cradles one of the delicate creatures in her palm. They're all different sizes, asymmetrical and rough-edged, cut by many little helping hands with children's safety scissors. Some of the more impressive insects are decorated with designs, hearts, and carefully chosen words. They're adorned with gold glitter, some more subtly than others, giant globs weighing down the wings of a few of the rougher butterflies. The sunlight hits the glitter and it sparkles and shimmers.

Mary Ann turns back to Gilligan, disbelief caressing her features. "It's the banyan tree," she whispers. "The one with the branches that hang all the way to the ground," she continues, clarifying unnecessarily, and he nods. "The living cave."

Mary Ann reaches up tentatively to touch one of the more elaborate butterflies. It's beautifully shaped and a dazzling bright red. It's bigger than the others and is hanging lower, more prominently. Annie spent a solid half hour on it. It even has tiny antennae. The other bigger, low hanging butterfly is even more graceful than the first and is also red, but with white speckles.

"The caterpillars always built their cocoons in it," Mary Ann continues. "The butterflies all came out at the same time ... when the missile was coming. It was amazing. We waited for them after that, but they never did it again."

"That's because it was a miracle."

Mary Ann suddenly turns to Gilligan, her look of amazement melting. "Gilligan, I know you miss the island, but –."

Gilligan is grinning and shaking his head. "That's not why we did this. The banyan tree was a special place, but this place is special too." Gilligan lifts his arms and presses his palms reverently against the underside of the table. "It doesn't matter what it is. It can be anything, but it's also everything. A pirate ship, a castle, the Lone Wolf's cave, the banyan tree cave. Or a table big enough for a whole family – with room to grow."

Gilligan shifts to one side and digs in his back pocket for something. He pulls Mary Ann's hand toward him and holds his hand over hers. He opens his fist and something drops into her palm. "I made this for you four years ago. But I wanted to talk to your dad about it first. And Uncle George. And the guys." He smiles sheepishly. "And the kids."

Gilligan moves his hands and Mary Ann stares down into her palm. The four pearls Gilligan found after the gold mine debacle – the only pearls ever found in the massive oyster bed on the island – sit in her hand, shining in the beams of sunlight. They're attached to one another, fused with a permanent variation of the tree sap glue. The pearls are secured to a loop of strong twine and it's immediately clear what it is.

It's a ring.

Mary Ann stares into her palm in shock. She can't see clearly any more, staring through the ring, through her hand, through the ground into a swirling mass of nothingness. She assumed this day would come sooner or later, especially after last night, but she was not expecting it to be today. And she had definitely not expected him to have been carrying this gorgeous homemade ring around for _four years_.

Gilligan squirms uncomfortably in the silence. "I think we should get married," he clarifies finally. "You know, especially if we're gonna have two to three kids and a dog."

The longer Mary Ann stays quiet the more worried he becomes. There are no other scenarios in his head besides her throwing her arms around him and kissing him and then staying there forever.

"The Skipper wants to do the wedding," he says, beginning to babble. "We can find some water here somewhere." He looks around under the table, as if he can see beyond it and beyond the flat dry fields to a lake that he hopes exists. "You know, more water than that stream. But Bobby wants to see the ocean and Grace wants to come to Hawaii anyway, so maybe we should go there. I don't care where it is, as long as everybody's there."

Gilligan pauses and peers at Mary Ann from under the brim of his hat. She's smiling slightly now, which he's taking as a good sign. Then she starts laughing, short laughs of disbelief and shock, and she looks up at him. She's crying and Gilligan would be worried, but she's also grinning at him and nodding.

Gilligan nods back. "Yeah?"

Mary Ann nods harder.

Gilligan picks up the ring and turns her hand over. It slips perfectly onto her finger. "I can't promise that I won't fall off the raft," he says. "But I won't jump this time."

Mary Ann laughs and finally throws her arms around his neck.

"Ew!" a little voice shrieks from above.

"Ew! They're kissing!" Bobby yells.

Shadows move and the beams of light flicker and there's a loud clomping on top of the table as Bobby jumps down and runs to the house. "_Grandma!_" Gilligan and Mary Ann squint up through the cracks. Emma grins down at them from on top of the table.

Mary Ann turns to peer at Gilligan. "I can't believe you made me wait four extra years!" Mary Ann punches him in the shoulder and Gilligan yelps.

"Ow! Mary Ann! We can be like Aunt Martha and Uncle George without the punching, you know."

Mary Ann links her arms tightly around his neck again. "I'm sorry," she whispers and stares intently into his eyes. "We're gonna have the best life ever," she repeats back to him and he grins.

A low rumbling is becoming audible in the distance. It gets increasingly louder until the sheets are ripped away and kids surge under the table and into their laps, shrieking and yelling and hugging them.

Martha leans in the kitchen doorway, watching the commotion in the yard. Everyone is screaming. A tangle of arms and legs is visible beneath the table. Jack and Tommy sit on top of the table, banging their fists on the boards, whooping and hollering and generally being cavemen about the whole thing.

George appears in the doorway and wraps his arms around his wife from behind. He rests his chin on the top of her head and peers into the yard. "Looks like he'll be coming back."

Martha smiles. "Yeah."

"Good." George kisses the top of her head.

"Grace is next."

George exhales grandly and she feels it ruffle her hair. He sounds exhausted already. He tightens his arms around her. "Let's just enjoy this for now."

# # # #

A package from Hawaii arrives shortly thereafter. It's filled with leis and plane tickets and coconuts and wedding invitations and sailor hats. Boys and girls alike wear the hats with their jeans and their cowboy boots, brims down, just like Gilligan taught them.

William Gilligan touched down in Winfield, Kansas like an F5 tornado. But instead of leaving devastation and destruction and millions of dollars in damages in his wake, he left laughter and only mild destruction and maybe twenty dollars in damages in his wake.

Because the kitchen window was not his fault.

* * *

><p><em>Thanks for sticking with this, you guys! Original characters have always been the bane of my writing existence (one of the reasons why I love FF), but it's something every writer should be able to do and I'm really proud of all of my original characters here. I hope you were able to embrace them as I have.<em>

_I didn't realize it would be this long when I started it. Actually, I didn't realize it'd end with a proposal when I started it. o.O Which might be why I'm not 100% about it, but I've learned my lesson about planning ahead. Yikes. __I had some funny ideas about what might happen if everyone descending on Hawaii for the wedding (Gilligans, Summerses, Mulligans, the other castaways, of course), but who knows._

_In any event, George and Martha totally need their own show. :D_


End file.
